In Denial | Alex Turner

I

New York mostly came alive after 10pm. Until then, all you could see around the city was tired bodies, dragging themselves through the city- supposedly to the place they worked, to the coffee shops and then back to their house. All done in these eight, or sometimes more, tiring hours.

Everyone was mostly in a bad mood due to the city's despressing air. Cars driving up and down the big and noisy streets, leaving their fuels behind, tracing their path.

When the sun went down and the night joined them, most people's mood changed; they felt alive again. Teenagers running around laughing, making memories that would not be forgotten in any near future, enjoying the last years they'd be free for a while. Young adults in bars of every kind, getting drunk for fun or for comfort.

Although the nights wore this innocent-looking mask, they hid a scary face behind them. Nights, especially in big cities, were everyone's worst nightmare when it cane to being alone outside the security and warmth of their home. By watching all those people running or jogging through the city with cold wind entering their secured coats and with the only source of light being the half-broken street lights, you could recognise the fear and nervousness in their faces as they passed by you, trying to realise if you're dangerous or not by their peripheral vision.

Despite all these flaws, though, no one dared to leave the city. No one could leave all this adrenaline rush behind. The city captured you as soon as you first glanced at it- everything about it was intoxicating. They couldn't leave the tiredness, the polluted air, the noisy and annoying streets behind, because that's what made them feel full and satisfied.

Talking about bars, they were mostly the 'main character' during nights in the city.

Being a bartender was annoying and tiring, but also the only way I could manage living all by myself there. I barely had enough money by working two jobs; one in the morning and another during the night. As you can probably understand, there was no 'me' time or enough sleep on weekdays. Weekends, on the other hand, were a bit more relaxing since I only worked during the nights.

"Monica!" a loud feminine voice snapped me out of my thoughts as I was sitting at the back of the shop, smoking a cigarette of hers. "You have people to serve and your break was over ten minutes ago!" Elle still yelled from inside.

I took a last look of the city before heading back inside. With the company of the sweet and toxic taste of the cigarette burning in my left hand, I observed as many people were walking up and down the streets, hugging each other to keep warm on that cold January night. Some of them happy, some of them melancholic and some others barely standing on their feet. It was crazy to think how all these different people I would probably never see again had their own unique story to tell.

I threw the cigarette on the ground and stepped on it with the tip of my heavy boot, completely crushing it before I ran a hand through my caramel hair, heading back inside to where all the loud music was coming from.

I watched in laziness as everyone was dancing and dragging themselves from one corner to another, all in sync due to the music that was the last thing that disturbed me in there.

"Look, I know how tired you must be. It's a Friday night and everyone is out partying while we're here working-" Elle started but I stopped her.

"Elle, it's okay, we'll be back home soon," I put a hand on her shoulder and she pulled me in for a hug before leaving to return to her spot on the bar. Elle was my bestfriend and old roommate. We used to live together when I first moved to New York. We first met at a bus station and then realised we work at the same record store in the mornings. I was relieved I had a friend.

Every night I did the same. Make drinks, serve them, whine about how much I hated working until after midnight etcetera. Nothing excited me anymore, everything was null and tasteless.