The Lord be with you.

The bass trembles like a second heartbeat.

You stand just inside the doorway, the small silver cross beneath your shirt resting against your chest like a private joke. Flashing lights turn glasses held by strangers across the dance floor all shades of violet, crimson, and electric blue. The air smells of citrus peels, sweat, and something metallic you pretend not to recognize.

You feel that pang in your gut at the scent. At the scene before you.

Bodies move in loose constellations beneath the spinning lights. A man in a silk shirt laughs too loudly at the bar. Another leans against a pillar, watching the room the way you do. Carefully, hungrily, looking for someone to satiate his own need.

You feel your pulse in your throat. You dont even know why, after so long, it still gets to you this way. Its like second nature, this routine.

You exhale and step further inside, swallowed by the noise.

GET A DRINK.