Tonic

Pulsing.
Yep. That was the word. The entire nightclub was absolutely pulsing with activity. Sacha could barely breath for all the people, not to mention actually move.

Tonic. It was the hottest nightclub any New Yorker had ever seen, according to the Times that is.  
From the doorway Sacha could clearly see why. Strobe lights flickered dizzyingly overhead while the mounted speakers pounded out an intoxicating beat that was a mixture between rock and something akin to techno. The music called to her, begging for her to partake in the festivities, to sway her hips and join the mass of dancers.
It was not a call that was easily ignored. Shaking her head to clear it of her wayward thoughts, Sacha focused her mind solely on her purpose, the entire reason she was here. Edging her way around the mob blocking the door, Sacha sighed in relief when she reached the coveted wall. Getting from the entrance to the back of the club was half the battle. She hoped to skirt most of the crowd by inching her way around them and making good use of the limited space between the stucco and the wild mob.
A few stragglers rested against its cool supports, drinks in hand, and watched enviously as the others danced in the middle of the room. Stragglers aside, there were no others barring the path to her destination.
Slipping past a rather large, salivating man with an atrocious amount of facial hair, Sacha’s determination wavered slightly. She soon realized this was going to be much more of a task than she had first expected. As the night progressed, more and more bodies had slipped on to the dance floor. One couple in particular danced frantically only inches away from the wall, directly blocking her path.

“Oh come on.” Sacha muttered under her breath. The two were gyrating like a couple of mating buffalo. Sacha wasn’t quite sure whether or not buffalo were actually capable of gyration, but that was neither here nor there.

“Excuse me!” She practically shouted for the fifth time. When the pair of buffalo still refused to respond Sacha decided five tries was quite enough, and she sank back to scout for another route. Realizing that yet again she had been misguided, and that crossing the club would be no small feat indeed, Sacha let out a slow sigh of resignation.

“I mean really, how much more crowded can a place get?” Sacha groused as she plunged into the throng of dancers. “Surely this must be some sort of fire hazard?”

And if Sacha thought the wall was bad, she had been completely and utterly unprepared for the chaos that was the dance floor.

“Oh crap.”

Was that huge, burly man staggering over towards her? That same man who had been eyeing her like a dog after a piece of meat all night? Yes, and yes.
Looking around frantically for an escape route-- any escape route—Sacha pushed and prodded the bodies surrounding her, but there was absolutely no way she could out maneuver him.
Where as Sacha was barely making a dent in the crowd, Paul Bunyan over there was practically mowing ‘em down.

“Oh crap.”


You can say that again.