That night, John possessed all the charisma of a sleepy clam. Standing quietly against a wall in the busy club he filtered fed off the air like a mollusk—breathing in oxygen and exhaling waste product that mixed with the heavy air of the large, strobe light lit room. Though he swayed with the music, John still managed to keep his feet fixed to the floor as he looked into the crowd at every guy dancing with a/their/some girl.
Read More