I sip another orange juice
instead of an alcoholic beverage
because I don’t want to be
less than the current me,
intoxicated and reacting sloppily.

Still, I engage the girl at the bar clumsily
half-jokingly insulting myself
because I am to nervous.
She gives me a few moments
then turns to the drunk guy
on her other side.

The clash of music versus music
sounds a discordant wave of chaos
punishing my eardrums
but giving me a good excuse
to creep away with all the grace
of the Star Trek, X-men, and
Buffy the Vampire Slayer nerd I am.

The off-duty bouncer
soberly killing time
working on a tattoo design
with his son’s initials
takes a break to educate me
on what I need to do
to approach other women.
Three things he confides in me
confidence, and smelling good
but I lost the third.

Off to my right in the dim bar lights
disembodied voices from the other side
of the small grey door
beckons me forth to explore
a universe of unknown melodies.
I do not venture there.
Instead, I listen to
the high heels that clank
in competition with the loud mouth drunks
losing out to
the dull conversation of drab businessmen.