BFF Cant Buy Me Love?

      Money can't buy me love.  But it can allow me full immersion into this  smoky club, where  I can be  enveloped by this throng of bodies. The sound coming from a baritone sax  can reach my bar stool from a hundred feet away. It can fill my ears to take me  to another place where the music is loud enough to create pockets of isolation , allowing me the privilege of looking into my long stemmed martini glass and not having to make conversation with those around me. 

  It is too loud to force  more than a shouted plea for an acid green appletini, no sugar on the rim of the glass please... no grenadine or cherry. I want a  twist of lemon .  I like alcohol flavored alcohol. This is a smooth, silky goose. I need that tiny citrus kick.  After watching my bartender flamenco with his shaker and watching the flourish of the liquid lust  swirl into a glass chilled to be as cold as my heart. His lifted brows ask if the first sip was good enough.  My lowered  eyes and raised glass answer the question as I smile my reply.  He leaves to answer the next shouted drink order. The  the smell of limes protruding from the neck of" dos Coronas, por favor" tickle my nose and cause me to lift my eyes and take in my surroundings.

 These exposed brick walls soar high above my head to reach a punched tin ceiling. They anchor the iron staircase with it's ornate railings and it's narrow mezzanine that swarms with a human parade going from the main floor to the throbbing dance floor on the second level. I see ingenues with their  belted a-line dresses and tiny sparkling clutches. I see the danger girls in their skin tight leggings , exposed shoulders and high platform caged shoes.  Interspersed with these era spanning girls are the popped collar boys in their fitted  graphic tees  with velvet burn out and too tough sneer.  The occasional hipster with disheveled hair , thick black framed glasses and  skinny jeans weaves his way through with a studied nonchalance , edging towards boredom.

 I sit here, on this bar stool, perpendicular to the bar and  let my senses feast . My tart cold drink, slides it's way down my throat as I inhale the perfume of bodies, smoke and the mingled cologne of the surging human mass.  The smoke of countless cigarettes fills my nostrils and clings to my hair and clothing.  It will one  of the few things to touch me intimately tonight.  It's  only competition is the urgent pounding of the music.  Being easy, I let both of them have their way.  With my pocket of isolation, I may as well be the only one in the room.

 Another appletini later, the band packs up and the atmosphere changes. I draw the last drops into my mouth. I pay my tab and thank my  kind host for a  lovely evening.  So , no money can't buy me love. But it  can afford me  these moments to be alone in crowded places. It gives me  this unexplainable peace and enjoyment.  When your love is miles away ,it's amazing what 12.50 will get you.