A need to be distracted in a place ripe for distraction leads me to notice that the banquette I'm sitting on is upholstered in the same material that the club is named after.

Faded and ripped, it gives off an air of seediness counteracted by its busy location and the youth of its occupants – and all the same it leaves me thinking that this was a bad idea.

Alone. In a room pulsing with laughter, music, and humanity. Trying to be both conspicuously apart from any other group in the room, and at the same time, not look as if I'm seeking company. Another person would make this difficult – demand attention and ask awkward questions about the band that's playing. Like if I liked their last album. Which I don't own.

Solitude isn't something foreign to me – I prefer it on occasion, but tonight I'm hoping for something better. Hedging my bets if you will, that this set piece will play out as it had in my mind. The likelihood is slim, but there is always a possibility. Which is why I'm here. Drinking vodka and trying not to look as if I'm looking for someone. Because, of course, I am.

Trying to appreciate a show by an act you're not familiar with is always an uphill battle. Live music, while divine when the parts are well-known, has a tendency to blur things into one long stream of verisimilitude if you're clueless. The fact that my heart isn't in it isn't helping. Neither is the guy who's trying to catch my eye from across the room. He's one of two types – alone, like me, caught waiting for something that isn't likely to come, and making do in the meantime, or with the band. Either way, the potential isn't great.

And just like that, as I'm assessing the talent in the room. I feel off to my side what I came for. It feels the way I remember it from before - complicated, free, exhilarating, and familiar. And before I know it, I'm dancing. Because somehow, when you both arrived alone to come together, it's easier just not to say anything.