Paris nightlife can be pretty wild.
However, this interesting person post is not about Paris, but about a boy who ran home from a nightclub. I am traveling with a group of people, but I am going to talk about one of the gentlemen we are traveling with — who for all purposes we will call COURIR. 🙂
A little bit of information I have collected from the source himself: he loves to travel, climb, talk to strangers, sketch, and basically share his many cool adventure stories with whoever wants to lend their ear. He’s pretty rad, actually. He’s a Latino surfer dude from Souther California, and well, basically, the epitome of ChiLL. The type of person who hates to hold grudges, etc. etc. etc.
BUT the most interesting about this guy is that he’s kind of the lone-ranger-type. Sometimes, he likes to part his way from the group of us and do his own thing. Another interesting thing to know about this world traveler is that he hates nightclubs. I imagine it has something to do with nightclubs usually being a meat market with hot air and sweaty bodies rubbing up against eachother. I imagine this, but I don’t know the real reason. However, the group of travelers managed to convince him to go clubbing with us because…well, that’s how this group bonds. We dance together in a large circle, and scream like banshees when American songs come on. Songs like: Starships, California Love, and Hit the Road Jack (the French do love Ray Charles). And we sing along to
Concrete jungle where dreams are made of,
There’s nothing you can’t do
Now you’re in New York!“
And the Parisians look over and say, “Oh, that’s where the Americans are” or “No, stupid, you’re in Paris!” Well, if you can imagine, we Americans can get pretty darn loud. Well, we convince him is the point, and our night starts out like any other night.
We make it to the club and boogie. There’s like nine of us all together, and we’re going from first floor to basement trying to get a feel for the atmosphere. The basement has cool lasers, but the first floor has reggae. You can’t beat reggae in my opinion. I stick to one other Latina girl who happens to like the same music I do, and we see COURIR from a distance. He’s boogying down with the large group—dancing the night away. Maybe he was just trying to make us happy–or–maybe, he was actually enjoying himself. All I know is that I look away, and all of a sudden he disappears. As if he was never there, as if a ghost had been present in our lives for two weeks and then suddenly decided to evaporate. Poof! Gone!
Reader, you know me, I get curious, imaginative and inventive. So here are some ideas I came up with (as to why he left the club last night):
1. He realized his socks did not match and he had to go home.
2. The girl who he wanted to dance with shot him down.
3. A large male bouncer threatened his life with a broken glass bottle as he went to the restroom.
4. He got the runs.
Later on that night, perplexed and with tired feet we walk up the flight of stairs to find out that COURIR had run all the way home. The man was wearing a nice white button-up shirt, a black tie, and nice shoes—-and he ran in all of them. We were by the Arc de Triomphe and he ran about 10 kilometers home alone at 2-something in the morning.
We don’t know why he did it. We don’t even know how he beat us to the hotel, but he did.
Do you ever get the urge to run away from some place, Reader? You feel like there’s nothing for you at one place, and you get this urge to run as fast as you can in the other direction? I think that’s what happened to this chap. Maybe in the end, the night was just a confirmation of how much he detests nightclubs. I would have been thinking: my body will hurt tomorrow. What if I get kidnapped? Who’s going to know I’m gone at 2-something in the morning? Etc. etc. etc. I suppose some people don’t concern themselves with doubt, they just do what they feel like doing in that moment. So interesting.