I glance around through the thick nicotine stained air. The gyrating bodies pressed close in dances of lust and joyless movement are moving of their own accord. The eyes of the people around me are dead. Of all the people in the packed night club only about 10% of them appear to actually want to be there, the rest there because of some social obligation to rebel against the norm by joining the masses. The girl I came with gyrates along with the social convention and so do I. I am searching for the elation that is supposed to come with dancing to the stentorian music that is expelled from the speakers. I usually love to dance, letting go of my