Possibilities
Here I'm not at a club. With pounding music instinctively gyrating muscles. With a jungle of female hips and arms to brush against, passing from one part of the floor to the other. This did not happen. When 7 hot girls come up to you on the street, and one smiles through you and extends an invitation to come along? Of course the answer is yes! So why aren't I here? Here on the bar leaning eagerly into her face with a bottle in queue inches from my mouth. Here with the aroma of cigarettes and aphrodisiac perfumes rising up out of the dark wood stained floors. Her face is alive and fiery with octagonal reflections and cheap plastic laser light substitutes. Or it must be- From someone else's perspective. Someone else's bar tab. Someone else's awkward internal monologue, constricting dialogue inside his brain. Someone else's disappointment with the shallow insides of the cute girl with the misleading glasses. I'm not here because in my subconscious, I know this. But consciously, I'm still clicking through the possibilities.
Disaster.
Danger.
Regret.