This corner suited her fine.
Especially now that the rum was beginning to run its course not just through her veins but through the feet of the people whose heads moved together in a feverish unison to that song that would remain stuck inside her head for the rest of the night, or whatever little that was left of it.
Socially awkward would be a wrong term to use. She just did not enjoy being drunk with everyone, or so she liked to believe. She remembered a few nights with a secret smile- nights that danced into mornings without the hostel warden coming to know, nights lit with fairy lights shining yellow over their flushed cheeks.
Someone had finally changed the song- the feet had decided to go easy for a while, while two people tried their efforts at really close slow dancing and at blocking out the inherent cacophony of life around.
Thanks to the alcohol, she hadn't even realised when she had started singing along-more to herself than anyone else, the times when it feels like you're quizzing yourself on the lyrics of a song.
"Simon and Garfunkel fan?", he asked suddenly with an awkward tilt of head as he was walking past.
"Is that a rhetorical question?", she asked with a smile.
And right then, thanks to some wicked twist of fate ordained by some God with a pathetic sense of humour, some idiot changed the song.
They laughed.
In a way only two people with too much rum in them, and each looking for their own corners can.
