For all eternity, for the time of a concert.

Do you believe in love at first sight?

I certainly don’t, sounds like some Disney movie crap.

Nor does Mike, there sitting in the shadowy corner of the club, away from from the flashing lights and speakers, pumping and pulsing of digital excitement.

Gosh, Mike does have a frowny face, doesn’t he?

He slams his glass on the tall table, spilling his whiskey and soda

-This place sucks! Why the heck did you bring me here?

-Oh come on! Nothing is ever fine for you, stop complaining for once, and. Enjoy. Your. Damned. Life

-Man, I fucking would, if I ever did something worth it, instead of being stuck doing dumb shit

They both have to shout, with the music steamrolling their words to mere whispers. Their back and forth conversation bouncing like a tennis ball from one side of the court to the other in a professional match.

Man, watching tennis is boring!

Dave is short, kinda ugly, with his broken nose and belly growing larger by the day. His hair and beard are unkempt and his style horrendous. Who the hell wears an orange (and I mean really orange!) polo shirt?

To be fair, he used to be fit, but then his thirties kicked in. Dropped his ball, Dave.

Not like me, I’m ripped, I tell you that. Trust me.

But he really never understood how to look nice. Should have gotten some style lessons, but never cared enough to put any effort into it.

But his face is kind, and somewhat jolly, when he crashes on the stool in front of his friend. Takes a long sip of his gin tonic

-Ah god, I love a good craft Gin, wanna some?

-Nah, I don’t like it

-It there something that you do like?

-You’re pissing me off

-Oh, you pissed me off a loooong time ago. Yet still, here we are. You and me, me and you. Like towel paper and a dirty butt. Inseparable!

Mike is tall, and wears a nice shirt. He has not gained a pound since he was eighteen, and now he also wears a rolex.

He stares at Dave’s dumb smile. People: you know that he wants to punch him in the face. Look at those eyes! He will do it for sure. And you know what? I would punch Dave in the face too. Corny little a-hole, all smiles and cookie-cutter morals.

-Why does everything I do always suck? What’s the last time we did something cool?

-Dunno, yesterday’s D&D session was really fun! When you rolled that 20 on the drag—

-YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!

-And you know what I mean. I fucking hate this music, I hate this place! But you wanted something “cool”. And we are here. YOU wanted to come here. I knew I hated it, yet I am enjoying my time! In for a penny in for a pound!

-If you didn’t want to come you should have said

The stool rolls to the ground, its crash drowned by the beats dropped by the DJ. Mike is standing, burning of glacial rage and resentment.

-Oh don’t be your usual sore loser! Com’on, I’m s-o-r-r-y

Now I know how my mother felt when I told her “I’m sorry” when I didn’t mean it. Probably I should apologize to her. Maybe you should too, I’m sure you did it plenty of times.

But Mike isn’t Dave’s mom, and won’t stand his crap anymore, when he stomps his way out of the club.

Dave, instead is a bit of Mike’s mom, he will try and make amends. Tomorrow though, he is not his actual mom.

Man I hate this Dave, why do I even write about such a bland character?

Well don’t you worry, this story is about Mike. Dave probably goes back home to play with his dinosaur figures or something like that, and have fun and feel accomplished and don’t stress at all about shit not ever going as intended in life, like any mature working class man should.

I don’t get how people like him exist in the world.

Mike is smoking a cigarette, stuck in the traffic down the road, lit by multicolored neon lights.

I bet that Dave doesn’t smoke. Probably he would have gone with an e-bike. And he is so environmental friendly that neons turn to LEDs when he comes by them.

Club after club crawl oustide the car’s window, at the excruciatingly slow pace of the city’s traffic.

“The Piper”. It sucks.

“The 4:20”. Full of hipsters bragging.

“Jammin’”. Can’t go there, last time he made a fool of himself with the waitress.

“Time’s Up”. No.

“Toucan”. No.

““. No.

No. No. No.

Nononononono.

Hammering on the driving wheel, pushing on the pedal, Mike has his engine revving, puffing black clouds out of the exhaust, just like from his mouth.

Then, on his left, a parking spot. Might as well walk if he had to drive this slow. Tomorrow he’ll come and get the car back.

Pulls all his weight in turning the wheel, and rushes to the spot, when some drunk kids in a scooter almost crash into him, dodging around at the last second and shouting insults.

Maybe they saw his middle finger and didn’t care. Probably they were too busy driving straight to notice.

Walking sucks. Yet another example of Mike accomplishing a whole load of nothing. Just another long, useless, slog.

Why the heck is it so hard? To find just that one thing!

Why does everyone have their lives figured out, except him. Everyone always does those cool, great things, while he was stuck walking between the same old clubs, one worse the the other.

Probably you know. You’re definitely not Mike, so I suppose you figured it out?

I am not so sure about myself… It’s not like Mike is some sort of image of myself, at all! Oh gosh, am I the Dave?

No definitely not. Somebody will read this story in thirty year and say that I am actually a mix of Mike and Dave. Go figure.

But rest assured it is not the case. This is just a story. Don’t you worry, good for you that you at least have your stuff figured out.

The lights, the musics, the smells, all pouring out of the myriad clubs along the road crash one on the other, piling up in an immense pyramid of nothingness.

Of course: no matter his struggling, how in hell is he supposed to get anything done, if everything around him is just a huge pile of nothing?

It is by chance, then, that Mike’s attention gets dragged to a small alley to the side. A subdued music plays, so low that is clearly audible against the roar of the main street. Like a candle shining brighter than a battery of spotlights.

Is that place new? He follows through, getting to a small door with a huge bouncer. No neon sign, just an hand written “Willie’s”.

-Can I?

The bouncer looks at him for a second, and rapidly talks in his FBI-style ear piece. then he opens the door.

Inside is a small place, narrow and long, almost empty.

On his right the counter goes on until the small stage, behind it a man as big as the bouncer. Probably the identical twin or something. In an instant he pours Mike a glass, and hands it with no words or explanation.

On the stage, a quartet plays some jazz piece.

As if me, or Mike, would know any title of a jazz song. I mean, I suppose it is a jazz piece. They have the sax, and that big-ass cello thing. Looks like jazz to me.

He takes a sip, and looks around. Seems like everyone is on their own. Nobody talking, nobody dancing.

Another crappy place, eh. Nowhere else to go. There hasn’t ever been any place to go: everywhere has always been nowhere for him.

Let’s finish the drink and go home. Then he’ll masturbate, go to sleep, and life will resume just as usual. I know that stuff goes like that. Dave has the dinosaur figures, Mike has pornhub. Don’t you judge them.

Then the song changes, it starts rising, the drums beating to surprising tempo, the bass walking around in his round voice. Then the sax, flying about like a hummingbird, and the piano holding hands with it.

There is a magnetic quality to this music, holding him to his seat against his will.

I mean, it’s not like his will actually wants something. It’s just that the music is keeping him glued to the chair, regardless of his will.

At this point, something impossible happens: It starts to take shape.

I swear, you people. The music was taking shape in front of Mike.

Maybe is a bit cliche, but swirling from the ground up, the song was standing looking him in the eyes. A stunning woman, in a long shimmering dress, so beautiful to leave his mouth dry.

Maybe in the Netflix adaptation it will be a man, I don’t know.

But this song, right now, in front of my Mike in my story, is a woman. And what woman!

She is dancing even without moving, her voice rich and deep with the ever changing chords of the song, and her hands caress him like lovers long lost finally reunited.

They kiss, and the make love. Mike, and the song.

For all eternity, for the time of a concert.

Once in his life, Mike found something worth it.

Once in his life, Mike fell in love at first sight.