..What shall we do this evening..

'What shall we do this evening?' I said after a while.
'What´s Steranko doing?'
'He´s having dinner at his brother´s . He won´t be back till late.'
'So shall we do something?'
'Yes.'
'What would you like to do?'
'Let´s go out dancing.'
'I knew you were going to say that.'
'What´s wrong with that?'
'I hate discos.'
'We wouldn´t go to a disco,' Foomie said. 'We'd go to a club.'
'All clubs are really discos.'
'Have you ever been to one?'
'Several. Hundreds. Years ago I went to loads and I never had a moment´s pleasure in any of them. All I did was watch people having what I thought was a good time but which I realise was simply a highly ritualised form of boredom. Besides I´m allergic to clubs.'
'What shit,' Foomie said, laughing.
'It´s true'
'I swear. . .'
'I swear it´s true. I get neon rash, strobe sickness, bass-induced vomiting, funk giddiness, flash-outs, bouncer paranoia. . .

Taken from The Colour Of Memory by Geoff Dyer