EPT
Flitting around like restless particles, they pass-by one another with a nonchalance that only experienced revellers possess. Some stop to talk, others are content to shout. Some sing songs loudly; solo, duet or as a group. They feel at home with the constant stream of taxis and the distances they have walked. They are happy here.
Where some lament the rainy skies, others embrace it uninhibited. Amused on-lookers laugh at the girl dancing in the puddle; she’s too well dressed for this informal dance, but she doesn’t care. She feels free here, if only for a brief moment.
An eclectic mix of pirates, animals and film stars walk by. It’s a costumed ensemble, boisterous, and enjoying the attention their now-sodden outfits grant them. A life-size ‘Where’s Wally’ is on his phone in same street ten minutes later, he’s lost his friends. Or perhaps they’ve lost him.
The rain has not deterred a sizeable pack of wedding hens. They are content to traipse around in the wet with their matching shirts, sashes, fluffy pink whistles and the other necessary accoutrement. Well-practiced at walking drunk in stilettos, nothing can stop them as they saunter on. Society dictates that they are allowed to be freer tonight; a bit more cheeky and unreserved. With champagne at those prices, they’re overjoyed.
Down a side street, two lads and a girl sheepishly share a joint. The sweet scent of marijuana caresses the cold cobbles and wisps up and across the rain-beaten rooftops.
Girls armed with digital cameras snap endlessly, the flashes almost create a rhythm or sense of normality in this environment. Three cameras in the group means each pose has to be done thrice and in ever-so-slight variations, forty times an hour should be sufficient. If only they didn’t have to delete half of them citing ‘hair’ or ‘facial awkwardness’ issues.
A boy in a leather jacket stands under the down-light of a side-street pub. He’s smoking a cigarette. Each inhale and exhale interjected by new faces passing by through the alleyway. A girl comes out into the street beside him and he’s enchanted. She lights up a cigarette but he’s almost done. ‘I wish I’d bought super kings’ he thinks to himself, anguished at the lost opportunity to talk to her without seeming assuming. His eyes have been opened to another good-looking girl – he sees himself with her. ‘But there will be more’ says his mind as he walks past her and back inside. He flashes her an intent look accompanied by a half-hearted smile. He’s confused her with these mixed signals ‘I must have looked like a rapist’. Ten minutes later and he’s forgotten about all that, the new girl he’s talking to has eviscerated any trace of that memory. He has a smile on his face to match hers.
From under the bridge and up the rain-soaked pavement are two lads, one in a trolley, and the other in the pilot’s seat. They are toting laughs, misdirection and lunacy – but this kind of fun is unprecedented. Another fault on the part of the driver is enough to see the trolley-bound lad ejected crudely into the nearest verge. He’s up and laughing within seconds. The bouncers watching them from their intended destination did not share this amusement, but they did know who was now not gaining entry. The lads made it almost all the way to the club with that trolley. One second of dismay. ‘Oh well, on to the next place – sans trolley.’ They’ll be fine, a slight loss of dignity is not even considered. There are plenty of places to accept them with open arms.
The gleaming crowd fire their hands up in synchronicity; the DJ plays songs that are engrained within the memories of the clubbers as total classics. It’s almost time to go, but that’s okay – it’s only just turned Saturday. Should they choose to follow the alluring scent of the party once-more, another great night awaits them all. Money has been spent, drinks have been drunk, places have been explored, music played and dances danced. Friendships have been rapidly steeled; welded together by drink, drugs and the spirit of the night.
Amidst the afterglow of the pubs and clubs, the street masses make their distracted way home. The sales of chips and kebabs reach their nightly peak. Hope is high, as is morale. The street full of smiling faces indicates that tonight was indeed a great night.
They’ll be back again.
