Eventually, I had to use the restrooms and left my post for only a few minutes. Luckily, there was no lineup. As I was hurrying back to our spot, I noticed that she was no longer there and the realisation was like a bullet through my heart. I was devastated. I looked around for a little while but could find no trace of her. Focusing back to the dance, I attempted to push aside all thoughts about the girl with the curls.
Time flows in peculiar ways during a groove. In certain moments, it feels like the hours are fleeing by too quickly; in other moments, seconds seems like hours. Eventually, it was time to leave. We had consumed all our drugs and danced for hours on end. We must have seemed like zombies as we walked to the car. On the ride back home, each one of us had stories to tell, many of which involved lulas. When it was my turn to speak, I chose not to tell the guys about the girl with the curly hair. I could not bring myself to put into words how I felt when I first saw her and the more I tried the less real the experience seemed to be… I remained silent and simply listened to the conversation while driving back to reality.
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