I would never have thought I could spent such a good night in a club. I’m not saying a surprisingly not bad time like the other day, but a real good night. Two hours filling up my stomach with orange juice (that helps: next time I go, if I’m not invited by alcoholics, I’ll have to make sure I get the tank filled in advance), two hours dancing, and half an hour, uh, cuddling (of course, it could have been a bit better if that last part had been a little bit more developed, but it’s alright for a start), and I won’t say anything more because writing up what you felt dancing requires a talent I don’t have. So all I’ll say is, this time again, thanks to Paumé for inviting me.

To think that, not long ago at all, if a guy had been telling me he was ten years younger than me, policemen would have been waiting for me by the door.

Oh, and I need to remember that: next time, wear jeans instead. Ok, it’s just salt, but it still doesn’t look that good when you get out of the club with company at six in the morning.