Outside the Club
The rest of the day was a hedonistic blur that put my college benders to shame. Whole lifetimes’ worth of sin transpired in that confined space and time. To jeers and echoing laughter, derision for the weak-kneed neophyte, I staggered towards the door. Drunk on blood and lust they taunted that it was too early still.
Lyrics lingered in my mind as I staggered into a fading light that stung like Sunday morning recrimination, “We were young, and we were improvin…”
Wincing and blinking I staggered around to burst through the doors of the defunct pub. Something from my heart or what was left of my soul told my stomach to vomit to no avail. The sanguine meal and moral stain would stay with me.
“…holdin’ hands meant somethin, baby…”
Fortune defied karma to smile upon me. They hadn’t touched the stock, so I spread it around. A pilfered beam served to bar the storm cellar doors, leaving me outside, beginning to twist in the setting sun, a lit bottle ready to toss.
“…outside the club, Cherry Bomb…”