And there you are, writhing seductively under the strobes. Oh, you are perfect. Let me guess. You're twentysomething, but creeping inexorably toward the big three-oh, though you try to pretend you're not. You've got a day job in a bank and you try to pretend you don't, which is why you're dolled up like Siouxsie Sioux's little sister.
Tonight is now.
At night, under the concealment of the strobe lights, no one has to know about all the boredom and insecurity hidden under the leather and lace and pancake makeup. Yeah, you sometimes fantasize about Lestat and wish he'd appear to whisk you away into the night. No job, no responsibilities, no need to deal with all the other annoying people, no wrinkles, no gray hairs, no crow's-feet. Well, it's your lucky night, sugar. You're gonna live forever.