Post by Deleted on May 13, 2015 12:54:23 GMT
500 WORDS | Open to all |
Pensive | MUSE! |
"Some nights I stay up cashing in my bad luck. Some nights I call it a draw"
He remembered the days when one could smoke and drink at the same time, none of this leaving behind your seat to stumble out into the cold hidden corner of the club. Huddled in with all the other smokers, corralled away like live stock. Granted it wasn't cold right now, hell it was still summer. Just. Now that he thought about it, this place had a reasonably open area and he was able to take his drink with him. It was well lit and absent of any other tar sucking soul. But it was the principle damn it. He wanted to sit at a bar and inhale all kinds of toxic chemicals, be it in liquid or smoke form.
No he didn't, slumping against the cold wall he closed his eyes and let the atmosphere and liquor do its job. He didn't want any of this, not the life style or the addiction. He didn't want the morning after or the ride home. Home, what a ludicrous notion. Of all things to want home had never been high on his priority list. Yet here he was, no better than his young teenage self, longing for the one thing he had sworn he would never need. A distraction, he had needed a distraction, a distraction had turned into an old habit. Explaining of course how he had ended up here. The kind of place he had stopped visiting years back.
Stamping out his cigarette Loren pushed his way through the door, depositing his empty glass on the counter and sliding into the closest empty seat as far away from anyone as possible. It wasn't that he didn't want company, it was just that he didn't want to be that guy. Hell that wasn't it, he was in a night club. The lights were dimmed and the noise fogged his mind as much as the alcohol had. That guy was everywhere, that guy was expected here. He just didn't have the energy for chit chat, for fleeting exchange of names and job descriptions. The discussion about what led them to come here tonight and the questions, shall we dance? Another drink? It was monotonous at best.
With an audible sigh he leant back, hands running through his hair in a vain attempt to bring about some common sense. Keen drunk eyes surveyed the floor before him, looking for god knows what. What ever it was he knew that it wouldn't be found on a dance floor at some hip nightclub on a weeknight. Yet he looked all the same, because something was better than nothing. Anything, any kind of distraction was going to be welcomed at this point.
"But I still wake up, I still see your ghost"
HAYANA OF CAUTION 2.0