12
The driving rhythm of an old Cure tune thumped in Adi’s stomach. She widened her stance a little, wanting to feel the solid floor under her feet. Disoriented by the flashing lighting, the loud music and the hundreds of people crammed into the underground dive bar, she needed to ground herself.
The dance area was maybe ten by ten feet, but its size was irrelevant. Clubgoers pushed against the bar, the walls, against each other, gyrating and rubbing their bodies in rhythm to the music. Adi’s mood soared, watching young students and older regulars flirting, laughing, kissing, grinding. Conversation was impossible, but then words weren’t needed when body language was far more powerful.
After she’d told her flatmates where she was going, they’d decided to come along. Adi had barely been a
