There’s a moment — somewhere between your second vodka redbull and your fourth shot with no chaser— when the dance floor stops being a place and starts being a universe.My attempt to crawl back to the peaceful corner of my mind is interrupted by the pounding in my head — a reminder of the mistakes I made last night.

Your friend grabs your face and screams something you can’t hear over the music, but you scream back anyway, because it’s not about words — it’s about being. You could fall in love with a stranger right now. Or maybe with everyone. Or maybe just with yourself, sweaty and radiant and alive.

Someone’s hand brushes your hip. It could be an accident, but it’s not. You turn, you smile, you’re infinite. You could take them home. You could kiss them here. You could disappear in the crowd and never come back.

This is why we go out. Not for the drinks, not for the photos, not even for the stories — but for this feeling. This chaotic, stupid, sexy immortality. The knowledge that for three minutes and twenty-six seconds, while this song plays and the lights keep flashing, nothing bad can touch you. You’re untouchable. You’re forever.

And when the song changes and the spell breaks, you just wait for the next one. Because the night’s still young, and so are you. **Apologies for the shameless Nicky quote. I couldn’t help myself.