Out. Cold.

Her eyes rolled wildly like wind blowing down each person as they entered the club. And her thick eyelashes captured them like spiders and threw each one against the wall, splat. Imagine that. Her judging them. It was her turn to get the winning numbers tonight, in the lottery of men's phone numbers. The lights were like fireflies, leading everyone to move faster, be more alive like them. But she was like an ice burg only melting a little on each side they took. There were three men sitting in the back of the club with slick suits and ragged looks on their faces, as usual. She didn't want them. She wondered if they had wives and what they had told their wives if they did. She was there alone, of course. It seemed everyone else was together. In on something better than anything she could know. Society. She knew she had to get out or she'd never be "in." And right now, she was totally out of it. But, three beers down and still couldn't relax completely. It was the looks other woman gave her. They didn't stay friends with her long. And men, easier, but still not the ones she wanted. Her tight, ocean blue skirt was crawling up her short legged nude nylons. Her pot belly sticking out a little too far under her tight black lace tank top. Her old leather jacket from high school, also a little tight. Anger nestled its way under her skin, and her heart. Anger against everyone. Now she was down to an icicle, her core, hanging from the building, about to melt a little more and accidentally knock someone out. There was no escaping tonight, even if she was out. Not from herself. And no one spoke to her all night.