Spencer Moseley

He never did know what to do with his hands or legs or hips at the club before the drugs hit. Well to be fair he didn't know what to do with them most of the time. He was cursed with a level of self-awareness others didn't seem to share. Or were they all wearing masks of comfort and chillness? He grabbed drinks for his friends and realized it came out to $85 after the tip. He felt his chest tighten and breathily said "no big deal" when Jen asked if she could Venmo him for her drink.  She probably wouldn't Venmo me even if I'd said yes, he convinced himself. She did still owe him $12 for a Lake Trip when he'd spotted her some dough for some event he couldn't remember now. But he did not forget the $12. Jesus I'm intense about money, he thought.  He swayed a bit and noticed a cute black girl leaning on the counter, talking to her friends. She had purple lipstick and a yellow-purple dress where the two colors waved into one another in swirls. Her laug...

He danced. And at one point it felt more like the music was moving him than like he was moving to the music. His necklace felt uncomfortable as the sweaty ends of his hair got caught in it as he thrashed around, but he hardly noticed. He had not felt this free in a long time. As thoughts of pursuing other girls subsided, all that was left was the music, occasional sips of vodka cranberry, and wondering what position the music would direct him to next. He swayed. He imagined girls being into his perceived carefree attitude. But I bet they can detect that too, he thought. Girls can always tell, huh. Then the DJ directed some bullshit line dance, and his rhythm broke. He felt discombobulated. He tried to keep up briefly through the first part of the song but to no avail. He panicked slightly too. But he calmed himself, remembering that the moment would pass and a better song would come on. Why did he panic so easily? he wondered. He shut his eyes and just swayed, knowing he must look sill...

I scoured the karaoke bar desperately searching for a hot single girl. There was a table of three girls and two guys, so perhaps one of them was single. That felt somewhat promising. I kept refreshing FB Dating and decided to spend ten minutes swiping. My friends were not on their phones so I felt guilty for being on mine. But I crushed that doubt remembering that nothing means anything and that we will all eventually die so who cares.  The table had lots of wet spots, and I didn't want to touch it since it was sticky too. I had already bought four green tea shots and I was slowly sipping a Gatorade-green margarita—so sugary I could not taste the Lalo Tequila I had spent extra money for.  I reminded myself what ChatGPT had told me. It said that looking for girls instead of being present is usually a less enjoyable time, and it was right. Damn that AI is good , I thought. So I tried to get back to the moment and turned to my friend to make fun of one of the singers. We had some...