Not my scene

I worked late and ate dinner sitting at the bar of a restaurant that happened to be along my route home. I was sending e-mails back and forth to someone about work. The bartender told me the two men who just left were lucky because they were about to catch a flight to Miami. I imagined brightly dressed, surgically enhanced, people dancing, posing, smiling slyly like wolves in an outdoor courtyard. 

I'd only want to get out of there. Send me instead to Bethel, to Texarkana, to San Angelo...