Wurst in heaven

25 May

This Saturday night out in London I’m following the invite of a friend who’s tagged along some other folks.

I meet them in a restaurant, after introducing himself he says that he likes my earrings. I was wearing the red ones, obviously with matching shoes and hand bag.

He’s 1.86 m or so, the perfect skinny, a cool hair cut and is well dressed.
We leave the restaurant and queue outside the club where we’re hoping to watch a concert of the winner of the Eurovision Song Contest.

He runs a tech startup in London and tells me of the expansion and VC raising plans. He offers chewing gum. Intelligent guy, witty and well mannered.

After passing some high touch security checks we head in and unrequested he gets me a drink. He’s from Manchester. Explains the accent, I think!
The crowd moves to the music and so do we. It’s getting full, several hundreds of guys in their twenties are here waiting for Conchita to sing a few cheesy love songs. Everybody here has a story and many moved countries to find the space to live their story.

People want to be close to the stage and keep pushing forward while the club fills up and the AC does her job.
Is it the anticipation to rise like an eagle? That the heart will go on?

He dances, I dance, the crowd does. Suddenly a guy chats him up, quickly they laugh and talk like old friends. Then they start kissing.

And nobody cares, cause this is heaven.

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