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Graham Nunn

On the Floor

Saturday night and The Corner is packed enough to get the walls sweating. My skin crawls with the noise, the lights and last night's one-too-many bourbons. The DJ is working the decks. Playing some nasty electro beats. Two records spinning simultaneously. Each one fighting for breath. Drilling into my skull in four-four time. Like the dancers ... They're wet through and showing no sign of stopping. Transmitting the music through the floor. Up ankles, thighs, stomach and neck. Each of them lost in the beat. Reaching out through the swarm of noise.

on the floor
eyes meet
then slide away

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