Kevin Gates, is a short man with broad shoulders. Shoulders that carried the chip which had haunted him since his growing spurt came up short ten years past, walked down main street in Tuscaloosa hoping to relieve some pent up physical and mental energy – some men refer to this condition as being a bit backed up. Kevin’s acquaintances considered him a decent fellow over all, but he sheltered every impulse to develop close friends. Friends are the kind of light that drip like water into the soul gently pushing aside obelisks that have remained tacit yet functional for a lifetime forcing light beneath the doors of his closeted neurosis. He walked by the sign that introduced the strip as though it were a subsection of the city rather than a appendage on the overall body. A place where a man could disappear without the surveillance of communal morality or familial expectations. There was always something enticing about abandoning the unspoken rules of society and dancing in the darkness, rubbing sweaty bodies in crowded rooms and liberating the mind from watery light with a thumping bass. In the darkness, a man can fling himself against the limitus of society and violate the very functions that the body corporus should be attending to. Thick smoke, dim lights, loud music, all together has a way of releasing the soul and letting it breath. Like a small rat hole the faded grey door of Egan’s pushed against the crowded line of people trying to force their way into the darkness. A resistance that Mofo Brown facilitated as he sat policing the participants and taking tens from the hands of thirsty strangers. Gates slipped through like shadow between two tall boisterous girls whose distraction allowed him to keep the ten still crumpled in his hand. Inside, He orders a long Island and leans against the greasy bar feeling the flow of crowed brush against his clammy skin. The crowd excited him in a way that no individual could. He could feel his sex rushing to the surface in the dark with bodies rolling and pushing and shrieking to the bass and drum bring his thrill to the edge of climax. After a few sips of liquor, he could close his eyes and listen as the sounds merged into a lightless obsidian sea sending waves of pleasure rolling down from his neck to the back of his thighs. A muscled arm reaches through the crowd and hands him a vial. Gates sees that it is a popper. Hugging it to his nose he breaths deeply and allows the rush to push against the wall that resists his orgasm. By this time the crowd has swollen, flesh against flesh jumping and thrashing shadows against colorful and chaotic lights. In Kevin, A thin membrane of self control bulges with pressure of gyrating crowd. He gulps his drink and signals for another. A member of the crowd slips out, pushes against gates and another patron, and waves for throat lubrications. A reward is offered. The crowd touches Kevin on every side and the slipped member unites with the rhythm of the Drum and Bass, awkwardly at first and then steady, steady , steady. Kevin’s heart races with the driving kick and the tingling in his skin rises and falls with the resonance of filters that sweep over the establishment. ‘Shit. Stupid fucking shit,” Kevin’s revelry is disrupted by his need to pee. He waltzes through the throng of sticky bodies toward the urinals. He barely makes it. His pee comes out in spurts as it bypasses the fluid that prophesies pleasure and lubricates the vaginal wall. When he is done he shakes it a few times liberating drops from the head into the head. The crowded urinal covered with eyes seems to bright with its one under illumined bulb. Gates places his penis in his pants and zips his zipper. He wonders if he will fit into the spot that he had picked out at the bar. The perfect place to survey the crown. There he was elevated above the sunken dance floor. Where the rotating ribbon of flesh moved in circuitous footpaths pushing against every body hidden in the darkness. His spot was smaller crowded now by a set of big burly shoulders and thin neck draping a thin dress. These extensions of the growing amoeba unknowingly welcomed him into their writhing passions. Kevin signaled for one more drink and paid his dues. On cue, a feminine arm reached out from the mass and offered another popper. Kevin accepted and drank deep of its bottled vapors. His vanishing high returned with a sudden gasp. The couple that rubbed against his side also pushed him out toward the undulating mob. His drink splashed against someone passing by who , in anger, knocked the drink from his hand, fisted him, and swung him around toward the center of the dance floor. The lights shifted from green to orange to red to blue to… Gates fell down. His body tingled from the fist against his flesh. The jumping and throbbing of the crowd continued to pummel his body in that prone position. Kevin could feel their violence rubbing against and at times stepping on him. There was blood trickling from his head – just enough to wet around his eye. Every sensation from the crowd heightened his yearning as he grasps whoever he could and pulled himself up to his feet. Again a popper came out from the crowd. Gates took a deep breath and let himself go. The warm release of his orgasm left him breathless. In the dark, he couldn’t see anyeone, and no one could see him. Only flashes of flesh and colors collapsing on one another left traces against the memory. There eas no need to hold any one. The mob on the dance floor enwombed him in their totality. This was love.