At the end of the Spotlights
Unsure of what to do and where to go next, I spotted the universal signal for overhyped event- the dancing spotlights in the sky. I was a moth and the spotlights were, like, um, spotlights...

New Orleans has Bourbon. Austin has Sixth (Texas, because Austin, MN has the SPAM museum). From my limited research it appears that Tempe, AZ has Mill Ave. I fluttered my way through a wide variety of Westerners on Mill. There were middle-schoolers, fully sluttified. There were middle-aged tourists. There were motorcycle enthusiasts and their jealous girlfriends. I saw bicycle cops busting drivers with fortys. I can't confirm it, but I am sure someone must have been cruising. And as to be expected when you line a street with bars, there were 20-somethings. I flew through all of this with only the occasional glance at the bumper crop of plunging necklines and small-of-the-back tatoos. When did the unmarked back become the pleasant surprise?

Drawn to the light, I finally arrived at the source. My pot of gold was another bar. I knew it would be and yet somehow I was disappointed. It had a name like Froggy Frog's or The Beach Bash or something else unmemorable. The music pulsed and the lights flashed. I stood in the courtyard and looked in, wondering what the cover charge would be. Inside hot women gyrated. Don't worry mom, it's a dry heat out there.

I didn't know what to do. What could I do with a pulsing, flashing, gyrating place like that? Feel the same way I feel now, but have paid 10 dollars for it. I thought of the moth and how it circles the light, until it's crashing into it and bouncing off, probably dying before the light even goes out. I didn't want to be the moth. I turned away from the bright lights with one last look at the gyrating and went to get a scoop of ice cream.