Obfuscation is Easy

I dangled my feet from a waist-high wall at the light rail station in front of a nightclub accurately and pragmatically dubbed Drink. The line out the door fluctuated from five people to halfway down the block depending on how quickly the bouncer checked IDs. Music pumped out the doors and open windows, making my waiting for a train akin to actually patronizing the place, but cheaper, with better air, and more room to move.

Around the queue to get in, people darted here and there to various destinations. To the east was Sneaky Pete’s and Dreamgirls, two clubs each as classy as their names imply. And to the west: First Avenue at large with all it has to offer: Clubs as painfully similar to each other as the boys and girls bandying between them.

A train arrived in the direction I wasn’t going. It stopped between me and Drink. Five girls in their late twenties and gauche wigs stepped out onto the platform.  They swarmed like bees, all communicating at once to each other and only moving in a single direction as if by chance.

As the train waited for its predrunkened cargo to disembark, it offered a surprising quietude on the platform, blocking all the chatter and bass from Drink and Sneaky Pete’s. As it rolled away, the stereo turned back up.

Drink’s bouncer was letting three prettyish girls into the club without having to wait. A man was walking down the line of guys and not-as-pretty girls, grinding with any female that made eye contact with him and giving high fives to the dudes.

Through this melee of “fun,” a young woman passed by and made a right onto First.

Two things set her apart from all the other partying pedestrians...

I could read Abraham Piper's writing all day - except when he leaves us on a cliffhanger like today! There's lots more to this story - read it here.