Masquerade

19 February 1999 - Permanent link

Blue, red, purple, white -- the lights of the Masquerade flashed, again, again, over and over. Hired dancers turned up on the display pillars; a couple of hundred die-hards moved on the floor; and crowds of other people milled about the perimeter of the dance floor-pit, socializing at the bar and tables, trying to hear each other over the techno backbeat, glittering under the disco ball and strobe lights.

Eva and I were in the center of the floor. My hands were on her hips, now off, now on again, and we were both covered in sweat. I looked at her.

I stopped dancing. Right there, in the middle of the floor. And she stopped too.