Ladies' Night

I walk in and about twenty faces beam at me… they’re busy doing their own thing, but they appreciate that I came. I smile back to each of them. Like one person we all stare back at ourselves, trying to locate spots to work on, with whatever weapons we have. If we need to share, we just have to ask, this is probably the only state in which we could share hairbrushes or glosses. Still, I try to make up with whatever I have in my little Gucci.
“Lovely bag! Gucci?!” someone asks.
“Yep! The perfect birthday present” I respond not really taking in the blond with a fun bob. What a friendly place!
The sound of the flush going makes me turn around. The scene I behold numbs me for a second. I am speechless. A child-woman- I say so because she looks like a child, say about fourteen-fifeen, but dressed like a very-how do I say- painted (?) woman; is standing on the commode and peeping into the other cubicle. Half a smile pasted on her face. Another of the same species is looking on from outside of the open cubicle, with curiosity. Like sizing the one standing on the commode, thought she was thinking what I was- of calling- umm i dunno- the asylum?? So I ask- “What’s happening here? What is she doing?”
Girl 2 turns around to face me- “My brother thinks, she is hot, do you?” The poor dear seriously seemed confused. So, I answer – “Umm… the one standing on the commode?! Yeah, sure… I mean, she is dressed to kill, right?”
“That’s what I thought, just her stupid, skimpy outfit...”
Hmm… friendly place, I wonder.
She tries to explain some more but the girl on the commode starts screaming, I rush into the cubicle, since no one was undressed I didn’t feel as awkward.
“What happened?” She must have understood what I ask but somehow only keeps pointing to the cubicle she was peeking into and then the floor. I trace the pointer- and there they are- a hand and a leg lying limp show up into the cubicle I stood in.
Maybe they belong to someone, I pence. As the girl confused by her brother’s choice of attraction yells “Oh my God, she passed out!!” major water works emerge as the girl on the commode, now climbs down and rushes to pacify her.
Maybe I should call someone… but I have to do what I came here for. I begin fishing in my loyal Gucci again- tada, my gloss finally decides to show up. I do the needful and pout. The girls with the passed-out friend clap, I look around and wave and kiss the air, and the girls cheer. I go out find the security guard- “Someone passed out inside a locked cubicle”
He is looks unperturbed and maybe a little bored- “Your friend?”
“No, her friends are in the washroom trying to coax her to get up”
Now he looks interested “Locked in the same cubicle?!”
“No!! They’re outside! Jeez!” and I walk away from where the muffled sound of Shakin’ Stevens was coming... and there it was my favorite place on a Thursday night! Thank you God, for Ladies' Nights!!!

Closed Doors

How many times does it happen?
While walking through the corridors,
Our own winding lanes, or the trodden ways
A room rests somewhere,
Obvious, yet obscure.
No signs on the knobs to declare,
Yet the closed doors make it obvious,
Obvious, yet obscure.
They want to remain shut.
But do we want to go in?
Do we wait for them to decide,
To light up the within?
Or does the within light outside?
Which side do we stand on?
Outside the door?
Or the inside of the other side?
Nervously we reach out,
Then pull away with a shudder,
We don’t want to know.
We don’t want to know the obvious,
Obvious, yet obscure.

Thinking...

A lone hour, a sole hour
Looking into the emptiness of the Creation,
Is it there, is it really there
Or is it just an illusion, all this?
Waking thoughts and silent dreams
Ambitions and destinations,
Like fork in the road,
Run parallel, never meeting;
Do they every converge?
When The Calling calls, the clock opposes
-biological, logical, all explanations.
Do we ever answer?
Is it an illusion, all this?
Some fascinated ideals established,
Always elusive?
Questions and more questions,
Time answers some, others pile on.
Yet we live, we move on,
Or do we really?
Is it an illusion, all this?