4 Perspectives


4 Perspectives

Her straw hair bounced amongst the bushels of crowd. The blues music riveting her right leg to the ground but swaying the rest of her body in time. The throng of people around her wiggled and moved to the beat. Their hips gyrating and wriggling with every pulse of the bass and each snap of the snare.

The few stationary posts couldn't help but bob their heads in time, their eyes frantically switching from the fingers of the guitarist and the rustling skirts of the girls dancing. Their wallpaper faces attracting nothing more than the distracted glimpse of the dancing couple's disgust. Nursing the drink in their hands, they wondered if enough alcohol might cease their discomfort, just enough to maybe flex a muscle or two. But no answer was spoken from their glasses, and so they drank more, desperate to find one.

The band playing took in each audience member. The small venue and it's short dance floor afforded them the luxury of each crowd members face. From bored to happy, drunk to buzzed, each person was here for their music and that's all that was necessary. The thrum of the bass and the squawk of the funky blues beats raised the hairs on their necks. The drummer building up his attack and vibrating the drumhead until the climax of the song sprung forth. The solo of the guitar and the rythmic cascade of the bass's runs and slapping caused cheers from the front row of music enthusiasts.

Alone in solitude. The single sad individual looked around him. Observing each, from the band to the Bartender, his bitterness doubled. The nature of each person he saw, engaged in their frivolous lustings and shortsightedness, disturbed him. His dreams of humanities achievements lay in ash by his feet, scattered by those he felt foolish. What little he wanted felt unattainable. So he stood. Surrounded by the crowd, but not bobbing to music or taking part in some sexual scheme, he quietly drank. Then walked away.

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