*
It’s much colder then I expected it to be. I’m walking briskly, not too fast, I don’t want people to think I’m in a rush. The streetlights make my reflection a blurry existence, my body and face seem to morph with every window I walk past. It’s quite revolting. The hazy yellow beams shift my shadow around me as I walk. I’ve got to say that even my shadow looks good. I’m really close to town now, just about to walk through the shortcut which is a lane next to Denise’s Café. Denise may be getting on a bit, early 50’s I reckon, but she has got the biggest pair of tits I’ve ever seen. I don’t think they’re fake either. She may be old enough to be my gran but I still wouldn’t say no.
Just as I’m about to turn into the lane I notice a woman walking up the street. Two kids. One in a pram, one walking, holding its mother’s hand. I turn into the lane quickly, ducking into a shadow. I stay silent, hiding, listening to the footsteps and the wheels of the pram upon the pavement until they’re close enough for me to see them. She’s mid-30’s, dark hair, around 5’4. Not bad looking, huge forehead though. Body is her best asset. Long legs, slim waistline, perky breasts. Not bad for a mother of two. The kid, old enough to walk, looks like a boy. They don’t see me. I wait till they walk past and rise from my crouched position, peeking my head out from the lane entrance. She’s got a nice, shapely arse. Wearing thongs by the looks of things. I’m tempted to wolf-whistle but I don’t.
*
Town is busier than usual. Students must be back. Mist Club looks packed and people are queuing outside. Can’t be bothered with the hassle of that. Not yet anyway.
Jim Beam Black Label is an elegant, smooth and refined bourbon. It has a complex, almost sophisticated taste which is owed to its aging process of 8 years. It has 69 calories in a 25ml serving and has 43% alcoholic volume. It is the perfect bourbon. Jim Beam White Label, the more popular of the two, has more of a sweet taste with vanilla and caramel flavourings. Compared to the taste of Black Label, which is semi-sweet and has notes of oak, White Label cannot contend with it. It is more of a crisp and gentle bourbon and has 57 calories in a 25ml serving. Less calories than its brother but that is evident in its taste. It has 40% alcoholic volume.
The last quarter of my sixth glass, with ice and coca-cola, slides down easily. Can’t really taste it anymore. Head’s a bit lighter, my nerves are on edge and I can feel adrenaline pumping through my veins. Deep breath. Been here for about an hour and a half and it’s full now, can’t get to the bar. I’d have to wait ten minutes just to get served, there’d be no alternative but to listen to strangers’ conversations. Idle talk. Nothing talk. Talk about their lives that no one really gives a fvck about but listen and nod and smile and laugh to be polite and friendly. I’m watching the crowd at the bar now. An ugly, unformed queue of hands patting backs, fake smiles, laughing mouths, cheap girls embracing anything with a cock. Then there are the men with too-tight-shirts, red faces and cheap shoes bustling and elbowing their way to the front past people too afraid to tell them to fvck off. If they tried to push past me I’d carve ‘CU’ on one cheek and ‘NT’ on the other. Perhaps some loss of blood would relieve the redness.
10.56 p.m. Time to leave. Crowds of people everywhere, gotta be careful that no one with a drink walks into me. My outfit would be ruined. There’s a group of three boys who’d been sitting at the table in front of me. None of them older then twenty, all look like they need a good meal. One of them has got hair like fvcking Tarzan. As I walk past their table, my shoes gleaming under the lights, I notice Tarzan staring at me. He’s probably admiring my hair. Who wouldn’t? I keep on walking but I can still feel him staring, so I stop dead in my tracks and turn my head to see what his problem is. I lock eyes with him. His eyes are too close together. Thin lips, almost emaciated. He may as well not have any. He still hasn’t turned away so I take a step forward and frown and push my chest out, tensing my biceps at the same time. They strain against my shirt. Impressive. It’s then that I see him bring his eyes down to my crotch. He licks his lips and slots his tongue between his teeth. He locks eyes with me again. Shit. I’m gonna be sick, I can feel it marinating in my stomach. Must leave. Quickly. The fresh night air caresses my face as I crash through the doors and into the night.
*
“Two shots of Goldschlager and a bottle of Peroni,” I tell the barman. His ear is so close to my mouth that I could bite it off if I wanted to, but instead I shout louder then necessary — might leave his ears ringing for a bit. He should take better care of his hair. Good hairline, but some of the strands are dry and need good rejuvenation. Phyto Phytokarite Ultra Nourishing Masque would do the job but I doubt he’s even heard of it. Probably mistake it for a rare animal. He brings the shots back first and I down them one after the other. The Peroni is put down in front of me and I slide a twenty into his palm.
“Have a drink yourself,” I say.
“Cheers mate.” Insecure, not confident, hasn’t looked me in the eyes once and a smile that is more like a grimace indicates confidence issues. £8.40 change. The £5 note is crumpled and yellowed as fvck. It’s revolting. Imagine how many fingers have touched this, how many noses it’s been stuck up, how many times it’s been put in mouths, tongues brushing against it. Imagine the amount of dead skin attached to it, the germs breeding and multiplying every second. A whorehouse for bacteria. I put it in my empty pocket, all on its own. I’ll use it for my next drink or maybe later shove it down someone’s throat.
I’m going to stay at the bar until the dancefloor lures me in. The music is pumping so loud I can feel it vibrating the floor. The beat is like a tribal drum. The lights are patterning the dancefloor with fluorescent red, green, blue and the beams are moving so quickly it’s like the floor is too fragile and hot for them to stand on for two seconds. In half an hour it’ll be packed here. I’m gonna get some shots in to pass the time.
One, two, seven, eight shot glasses in front of me. Liquid pools around and in-between them. Three bottles of Peroni join the crowd. My head is thumping with the music and my forearm flexor looks superb, like as if it’s about to erupt from my skin. I can’t really feel anything anymore, a pinch on the tender skin on my tricep feels like a warm kiss.
Group of hot as fvck females on the dancefloor. One, in particular, I’d like to fvck. She’s swaying back and forth to the music, arms making shapes, arse jabbing like she’s taking it from behind. Tits jiggling with every movement. When she bends a little, they’re tantalisingly close to falling out. Long blonde hair, looks dyed. Blow-job pout lips. Cheeks tinted with blusher. Black high-heels accentuating her calves, skin colour tights. I need to talk to her. After pushing my way through the human blockade on the dancefloor, I slide myself in between her and her friend who’s been trying to hide her engagement ring all night. I place my hand on her back.
“I’ve been watching you from the bar. You’ve got great tits.”
She looks at me, puzzled.
“Have I ever been to Graveditch? No sorry, never heard of it.” She walks off and dances with one of her friends. I follow her. I place my hand on her back again and she wheels around, giving me a blank look. I feel a hand on my shoulder and a bottle of Corona enters my vision, accompanied by a hand. A man’s hand. The girl takes the bottle and kisses the guy on the mouth. Tongues. His hand on my shoulder pushes me away. He looks at me out of the corner of his eye and gives me the middle finger. I feel anger boiling like hot water through my body. Mustn’t get angry though. Not here. I walk away and drift into the crowd.
I’ve been watching him and blonde-big-tits for twenty minutes. He’s an ugly bastard, goblin-like. He’s going outside. Without her. Now’s my chance. I peel away from the pillar I’ve been standing at and follow him, being careful not to get too close. I see him walking towards the right of Circa through the huge window that covers the length of the club. I walk outside and I see him standing by a refuse bin, lighting a cigarette. He’s all alone. All the other smokers have probably gone out the back entrance. Luckily enough, the refuse bin is next to an inset part of the building. He’s a bit shorter than me. I walk past him, head down. He doesn’t notice. Then, I quickly turn around and walk back to him. He’s not facing me. I grab him around the neck, kick his legs from underneath him and choke and drag him into the inset part of the building. I slam him down onto the floor and stamp on his diaphragm four, five times. One of the ribs pops and hisses. Then I kick him in the face till there’s blood pouring out of his mouth. He brings his arms up to shield his face, asking me to ‘stop, stop, please stop.’ I just kick them away and smash another kick into his nose. CRRRACK. More blood gushes down his face. He’s now whimpering like a fvcking hungry dog. He’s curled his knees up to his chest. I rain punches down onto the side of his body, boy does it feel good. He’s crying like a little girl. What a poor excuse for a man, disgusting shirt too. The blood makes it look better. He’s had enough. He can’t even speak. Croaks just come out of his mouth. I walk away from him, checking my shirt for blood. None there. He’s done me a favour, won’t have to buy another shirt or throw this one away. Time for a taxi.
*
Taxi rank wasn’t busy at all. I hopped into a Vauxhall Vectra, a nice spacious car. Also a smooth drive. Sat in the back. Don’t like being in the passenger seat when I don’t know the driver. Why is that inside a taxi, it’s either silent or really loud? This one is silent. He keeps glancing at me in the mirror. He’s got kind eyes. I think he thinks he knows me. Don’t think he’s driven me before. The town whizzes past me in a blur. Nearly home, just passed K & M’s off licence. Not much traffic on the road. The car pulls up outside my house and I put a £10 note through the slit in the protective window. Can’t be bothered with the change. I wait till the taxi pulls off and I fish the keys from the crack next to the drain pipe. House is cold. Need warmth. Bed. I get a pint glass from the kitchen and fill it up with cold water. I make my way upstairs, cleaning my teeth for three minutes precisely. I fold my clothes neatly and place them on the chair in my bedroom. Down the water. Then, I get into bed. Shit, it’s cold. I look at the moonlight sneaking its way through my curtains and think about the night. It’s Saturday tomorrow. I’m going into the office to get some work done. A smile passes my lips and I keep it fixed there until I fall asleep.
@Beard_22
