Beware the popper monster

You've seen him.  Middle to late forties and standing around six feet, two inches he shuffles between CroBar and Roxy mostly.  His wadrobe is simple:  black shoes, black jeans, a belt with an oversized buckle, no shirt, one of those black leather bicep bracelet thingies, and one very big bottle of poppers.  He is the Popper Monster.

Popper Monster has a game plan.  From coat-check he heads past the bar and straight to the dance floor where he takes in a huge huff of the amyl nitrate.  Several huffs later and he is starting to 'feel it'.  Getting his groove on.  Grabbing that oversize belt buckle with both hands.  Swaying to the music.  Well, swaying.

Now the Popper Monster is not just some old washed-out huffster.  Popper Monster is goal oriented.  That goal, unfortunately involves dancing up against your shirtless back.  At first you might think, "Wow, who is this big guy?  I'm going to peek over my shoulder."  But then you do.  And guess who?  Popper Monster!

A buddy system is important on the dance floor so that when an unwanted admirer appears you can be warned by your buddies.  Having spent the hours between 1:30 and 5:30 a.m. on Saturday night listening to a really decent set by Manny Lehman at the Roxy (to which I was dragged and at which I had a rather good time), there were those moments where you could totally let go and enjoy. 
At one particular moment of an Indio-Brazilian track there was a feeling of full frenzy coursing through every nerve ending to be abruptly halted by seeing my friend Jose's look of fear and mouthing the words:  "Popper Monster".

When you're dancing and amyl is the air,
look around you and beware.
Buddies can protect you when The Popper Monster attacks.
(On weekdays you can find him at Goldman Sachs!)