Summer of violence

I rode down ritch st. in san francisco coming to a stop by the entrance to the club. After dismounting I locked up my bike and stood in line behind two 16 year olds who were scheming to gain entry into the 18 plus club. Having gotten my wrist band, a beer, and checked out the venue I sat down in a booth reading until my friend showed up. It didn't take her too long to arrive and then the dancing. Most of the music was modern hipster fair with some smatterings of new wave. Peaches, the Rapture, the killers, all boomed as acne marked kids let their hormonal bodies shake. It'd been a while since I'd been dancing, maybe as long as a year. Last time was probably at the beauty bar in vegas. As I danced I felt my hands curl themselves up into fists. The bus ride home took an hour and I was in bed by 3 am. I woke up and went to the gym. Making my hands into fists again.

In another month or two will mark a year in my fighting life.