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Feb 04 2002 Kelly Norton
The last time I was in Club Riviera, it was virtually empty. Saturday night, it was a sea of bobbing heads rising and falling with the never-ending beat of club music. Clubs have a real escapist appeal. When you walk into the music, it takes over two of your senses; the others are rendered useless in the strobing lights and swirling smoke; even time is somehow arrested. As usual, I ventured out with no intention of clubbing, but was easily convinced to tag along after Chris's party ended. Plus, Chris has friends who work in the clubs, so we seldom have to foot the cover. I always enjoy swimming through the crowd watching people play their parts in an artificial oblivion, but it's tiring since the most interesting people are seldom seen before 4am. I pulled into the apartment complex at 5:30, hoarse from breathing smoke all night, opened up the bedroom window, and crawled into bed to read for a few minutes. The words gave way to pleasant dreams which lead directly to the dim sun peering in through a hole in the blinds I had inadvertently created when I opened the window. I could hear the sound of slow rain ticking against the air conditioner, so I set my book and notebook on the floor, and went back to sleep, but the pleasant dreams were gone.
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