Embassy In My Head

The  itch to go clubbing  begins with a recollection of  scenes from the past week:  the nicotine smoke swirling in mid-air, the half-empty bottles of San Mig Light and Tanduay Ice on the bar table,  the dance anthem played when the set starts to pick up, the after-party rumination inside the cab on my way home.  Most of the time, I  begged off from ever returning. But when the repetitive drums