POTATO TIME™

               It’s probably not even midnight, but the club is totally empty. It’s called Flares, and it sets itself apart with the promise to only play music from the 70s, 80s, and 90s as you boogie down on the light-up dancefloor. You are out to celebrate, sort of. You are finally leaving. Not that you really want to leave the city. Or your job. Or your friends. But you want more what you are leaving for. The opportunity to live with your boyfriend of seven years, just the two of you. You are moving to a place you have never been before, to a flat you have never seen. Your friends have called you Judas since you told them you were leaving. But tonight, they are dancing, and drinking, and making requests of songs so bad that the DJ keeps saying no. Until he doesn’t. And for the next nine minutes you are singing along to the same song twice over, playing invisible synthesizers, as the DJ takes the opportunity to sneak off for a break.