He watched her whip around the dance floor, her moves energetic, seductive. He couldn’t help but join.
It didn’t matter he was a terrible dancer with no rhythm. Overestimating his abilities was part of his charm. Besides, he wanted to be in her presence. Had to be.
But then it started. Speakers shook, music roared at deafening levels until people stumbled around the ballroom clawing at their ears, blood streaming down their arms.
He caught the mystery woman before she hit the floor, gazed into her bloodshot eyes.
For a moment, he wished he had a second set of earplugs.
The Weekday One Hundred 