There was a moment last night, as I did ridiculous air guitar to Feeder's 'All By Myself' and jumped high enough that I flashed whoever was stood behind me that I believed I'd never, never been happier. Despite being in a club I hate, at a night that has morphed from mildly kooky indie music to boring 'The [whatever]' bands surrounded by groups of girls I openly made faces at because I found them so awful I was elated, exhaustedly delighted to be out with good friends, drinking bad beer.
Watching the boys on the pull made me laugh, hard. The neon paint that now speckles my new jacket I admittedly could have forgone, similarly the groping hands of stupid emo men wearing more makeup than me, but still, it was perfect.
You don't read this, boys, but thankyou.