Working It

Tiredness, a smokey room with colours blaring louder than the cheesey music. Those who dance so hard, they fall, repeatedly. The crushing, the bashing, the spillage, the sweat, the burnt fingers, the toilet floor at 2pm as you try to wash the sticky mess off your fingers.

The things we do for love or passion, out of drive and want, sometimes in the end they're not as bad as you think they might be.