The girl went to the cubicle on very unsteady legs. In fact she was trembling. “How am I gonna make it home?” went on and on in her head.   She couldn’t stop worrying. She sat on the toilet seat, fully dressed and rested her head on a locked doors (which was not very difficult as they were just centimetres away). The wood was scratched, painted on, written on, shouted on, cried on. She wasn’t far from any of it. But strangely enough, for a while now, she actually felt safe, untouchable.

The loud music from upstairs was not so overwhelming now, she didn’t have to make her way trough the crowds to get a drink. And boy she had a few of them! She couldn’t recall the exact number of drinks (number of ways from the table through the dancing floor to the bar) but she was pretty sure that her wallet will be empty tomorrow. “not bothered!…Why all my friends have to ALWAYS leave early?..I’m on my own, again! “ she slowly shaked her head in disbelief.

The boy whom she met in the corridor leading to the toilets was so good looking! She didn’t expect him to start talking to her. She found herself answering all his questions shyly as a schoolgirl. What the heck was she DOING? She acted as if she wasn’t drunk, as if she was just randomly passing by. “Why is he talking to me? Who is he WITH?”  but she didn’t have the power to detach herself from him.   “I’m perfectly independent and happy! I’m definitelyy…ehm..definittellyyy  not in need of a man’s company!” she tried talking herself out of the situation.

But few hours later the couple could be spotted outside the bar, leaning on a parked by motorcycle, sharing a joint, laughing like crazy, the girl was doped by the reggae music, by his dreadlocks, by his smile, his lips.