Andrew was the worst of all of them, though they were all pretty bad. By about that point, most of them were on the dance floor, throwing themselves around with strained smiles on their faces, or else trying to grind up on girls. Andrew was propped against a pillar though, barely able to move. He was nodding his head to the beat, though even that was pretty out of time. A thin, sickly trickle of sweat ran down the middle of his forehead, seeping out from under his ball cap.

An old Motown song came on, and Andrew thought he recognized it; he was mistaken, but by this point he had already stepped forward to try and dance. A foot came out and tripped him and he vomited all over whoever was in front of him, then he fell forward. HIs arm went out and knocked over whatever was on the table and then he was on the floor and then somebody picked him up and was dragging him outside.

Whoever it was was very insistent and kept pushing him, though Andrew was stumbling with the stairs. "Hey, what the fuck, what the fuck," he was mumbling as the arm on his back kept pushing.

Finally, Andrew was outside. He found a cigarette lit it and stumbled across the street where an ambulance was waiting for somebody else. The medics were sitting on the bumper, watching him cross the street.

"Hey, do you know anything about the law?"
The medics said nothing.
"Do you know anything about the law, like getting kicked out of a club even though you did nothing wrong?"
"No, sorry."

Andrew sat down on the curb, motionless, defeated.