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It was overcast on Saturday night, thank god. If I'd had to count the stars in the sky on my walk home, I would've been out all night.

I'm back working at the Marquee after six weeks off due to renovations. I've enjoyed the time away from the club. It was reassuring to know that my getting laid does not, in fact, depend upon hanging out in a bar every night. That's what the Internet is for. (Hint, if you want me to email you back, send a picture.)

Although on the weekend I ran into several women I'd slept with whom I hadn't seen in a while. That was quite nice.

I've decided that the Marquee Club is a giant pussy. It pulses with life and sexuality. It has its own unique flavour. It has lots of little nooks to explore.

It can suck you in. Even when you have other plans and you're telling yourself, "Not tonight...really." Then before you know it, hours have passed.

For some it's all about pleasure and for others it means labour.

Saturday night in Hell. The band sounded good and everyone was having a good time. My mix was loud--not painful loud, but powerful loud. I was happy with my work. I ignored the drunks in the vicinity and looked up at the ceiling, listening.

A red light bulb shines over the sound console in Hell's Kitchen. Inside the bulb, a glowing filament, divided into six sections.

The sections of the filament are joined at obtuse angles. I counted the six sections from right to left, and then from left to right.

Six is also the number of lights down one of the hallway ceilings at Bayside Junior High School in Saint John, New Brunswick. I must've counted those lights a thousand times while sitting on the corridor floor outside Room 237. How many times in Grade 8 did I get kicked out of class for being bored and disruptive?

Her scent lingered after she was gone. I looked around the club, suddenly self-conscious because I couldn't stop smiling. A kiss: and my inner voice saying, that is all the action I will need tonight.

Usually I bring pleasure to the place merely by entering it. But on Saturday the walls of the club were muscles. As soon as I got off work, they contracted and threw me out onto the street. Alone and hungry and alive.