Too Much

Lights flashing, beats pumping, bodies pressed against bodies, hearts racing, drinks flowing. Why do I subject myself to this week after week? Oh, right, I've nothing better to do.

A voice calls out to me from the dance floor. “Aaron, Aaron, come dance baby.” It’s just my friend Gene. He calls everyone ‘baby’ and has gotten slapped for it many-a-time. I laugh and shake my head, taking a long drink of the alcohol in my hand. I've danced far too much tonight already. I'm tired of it, really. “Why not, baby? We’ve only been here for two hours.”

“It’s been four,” I slur, smiling slyly at him. Confusion laces his face and he glares at his wrist watch as he realizes that we have been there a lot longer than he’d thought.

“Hot damn, look at that,” he laughs. “Just come dance with me and then we’ll leave.”

I decide to just give into his whim, thinking we probably ought to leave soon anyways. I stand out of my seat and stumble towards him, my drink still in hand. He laughs and catches me as I all but fall into him.

The next song is loud, but perfect for dancing to. Gene and I don’t actually dance together; that would be too weird for even us. Instead, we dance near each other, both moving at different times with different moves. We’re horrible, really, but everyone is too smashed to care. I take another long drink and swing my hips to the beat, loving the sensation of the cool liquid running down my throat and feeling the bass shake me to my core. This is another reason I subject myself to this. I can’t get enough.

“Alright, you’re too much,” Gene laughs, putting an arm around my shoulders. “We’re heading home.”

“You mean, I've had too much,” I tell him, correcting his grammar even in my highly inebriated state.

“No, baby, you are too much,”