Assholes grinding against hot chicks. Club beats roar like waves. My back is killing me, and my feet are beginning to sharpen their knives. Friday night, business as usual.

I can’t even complete a thought before it’s drowned out by the boom of the bass. Battlefields are quieter than this club. I stand before a sea of sweaty, gyrating bodies moving to the rhythm of the beat, trying ever so desperately exercise their demons, if only for one night.

A fight breaks out in front of me. Two bellacose stags lock horns over a comely doe. I move without thinking, seizing the first one by the collar and throwing him to the ground. His opponent tries to sneak in a cheap shot, but he’s too drunk on Jaeger.

I catch his foot and twist, spinning him off his feet and into the floor. His face makes first contact with the concrete. They both moan from the pain, but no one hears them. Misery drowns in the waves.

Their friends come and take them away. The rave goes on. Nothing changes.

Friday night, business as usual.