• She rhythmically sways into the club, the music reaching into her heart long before she made it to the front of the line. To get inside, she has to stand out. She has to be bold and beautiful, striking a peculiar pose to the man smoking a cigarette. Of course, after spending a solid hour getting ready for this night, he sees the sparkle in her eyes and the pep in her step. The man steps aside with a nod and a flirtatious grin.

    Now the night begins; not with the setting of the sun, but with the entrance into oblivion. She wants to lose herself, and not just physically in the sea of dancing shadows. She wants the music to reign over her pulsing heart and travel through her veins. The flashing lights will numb her mind to everything -- everything, except the exciting rush of the club.

    A techno-filled base drops, sending the adrenaline shooting through her very soul, lifting her energy into a heavenly state. She is breaking a sweat not from dancing, but from the sheer level of sound blaring out into the reverberating walls of the hollowed-out building.

    Yes, this is the club life.

    After just one song, she is dehydrated. She coolly saunters over to the bar and flashes a sure smile at the bartender. A curious grin is returned, and she is served without having to ask. 'On the house' is what she gets, to her pleasant surprise. Tonight is simply perfect.

    A small but wide glass is presented to the girl of the hour, complete with a little umbrella and a thin mist effect that curls over the edges. The liquid is an attractive bright pink -- irresistible. A slow sip is followed up by a big gulp, and before she knows it, she's sucked down the succulent beverage. Again, without asking, the suave man knows to refill her glass.

    After the refreshing rounds of the sweet drink, she is ready to give up her body to the beat.

    Men and women seamlessly part for her, because they know: the dance floor is beckoning her spirit. Nothing can get in her way.

    For the rest of the night, the rising and falling tunes make up her life. Like one long, hazy but thrilling dream, she is a beautiful shadow. A dark dancer that caresses the prism of lights that run across her exposed skin. A nighttime mistress that grinds with her fellow club-goers. She is one and the same with the other hopping shadows; for just this one magical night, they are her brothers and sisters.

    With every dream, though, you must wake up some time. The music begins to fade, and the long-running pump of adrenaline is slowly replaced with an aching tiredness. Knowing true rest is needed, she makes her way to the exit, wiping the beaded sweat from her carefully-plucked eyebrows. The club is closing up. She takes one last glance at the dark room, from corner to corner, and catches the ragged eyes of the bartender. For a moment, there is a twinkle in his as he holds her gaze. With a flattered smile, she turns and leaves.