Choose your future. Choose life.

Nightclubbing

Flashing lights. Blaring music. Drinks splashed on the floor. Men fighting in the corner, because one of them looked at their bird wrong. Sticky table tops. Girls puking in the bathroom from drinking to much. Someone taking it up the ass in the men's bathroom. Badly rolled fags being half smoked, then being stepped on out of pure rage cause the bloody thing won't light. Dodgy pills being exchanged for money, right underneath the bouncers nose. Men shoving there tongues down girls throats. People shouting and kicking whilst they're being escorted off of the clubs premises. Boys badly dancing to get women's attention. Skin head sitting in the corner 'too cool' to be seen dancing. Girls tripping up over there own feet, cause their heels are stupidly too high. Best friends crying with each other because they love each other so much. Two strangers acting like best friends that have known each other for ages. The smell of sex hitting you when you walk past the bathrooms. The smell of sweat on the dance floor. Two people exchanging numbers in attempts to keep contact outside of the club. Like that'll fucking work. They'll message each other for approximately three days, before moving on and acting like nothing ever happened. Either that or they'll meet up and realise that they had drunk goggles on when they met in the club.

There are five quintessential reasons people go out to clubs:

The first: to get smashed
The second: to get off with people
The third: to have one night stand
The forth: to get dodgy drugs off people
The fifth and final reason: in the worse cases to be the designated sober driver to mother all the drunk friends and make sure they get home quick enough that they don't vomit in your car.

Anyone who says that they're going for a girls/lads night or any other god awful reason is clearly fucking lying.

Charlotte 'Charlie' May. Well she was there for the worse case. Sat at the bar with a glass of Guinness in her hands soberly eyeing up all the people at the bar, as her 'friends' slunk off with all the whores, bastards and dickheads that they could get there hands on. She sat there with nothing to do but wait. 

Charlie was good looking; not to shabby, she had piercing blue eyes that she thought were her best asset. she had shoulder length light brown hair, the ends of her hair had bits of old dye still hanging on, showing the world that she used to be a bleached blonde. Not her greatest idea of hers to go bleached blonde all that time ago. her small frame was somewhat muscular and she had a handful of tattoos that covered her skin. Charlie carried herself with confidence, but not enough to seem big headed.  The amount of men she had been pushing away the whole night could've started a small army. She wouldn't say she was picky,  but she had a specific type and if she was about to waste her sober time talking and getting off with someone, it was going to be someone who was aesthetically pleasing to look at, with an attitude to match. All of the so called 'men' that had come up to her had nothing to give that remotely spark any interest from Charlie. The night started off shitty, being dragged to the club, bring ditched and then having all these guys hit on her; the night was going to end shitty for all she knew. She would have to drive a bunch of drunk people home and hope that none of them would throw up in her car or try and get her to drive to some bad food place. So the shitty, sober night carried on for her, unfortunately.

after an hour and a half of being there, Charlie had become sick and tired of all the bullshit and the drunkenness that came her way. 'One more drink and I will plan to go home' she told herself, not caring about her 'friends' that she had to do lifts for; they only really knew her through work and felt bad for not inviting her. So she necked back the last of her coke and rum and banged the glass back on the counter top. She looked down the bar getting ready to order her last drink and spotted the old bartender chatting up two girls young enough to be his daughters. She raised her hand tried flagging him down, but it didn't work; she started flailing her hand about like a bloody chicken trying to grab his attention. nothing seemed to work. It was at this point that her attention was brought to the person stood next to her at the bar.