Sweet Poison

02

Dylan Bryes

If you had told me one week ago that I'd be standing in line at a club, wearing black baggy shorts that drop just above my knee and a top that covered the circumference of my thigh, my stomach would be churning at the irony of it. Yet here I am, standing, wearing black baggy shorts and a top that covers my mid-thigh, in line to be guest to one of the most notorious clubs in all of New York City.

I guess my curiosity defied me.

I take the rare moment in, spreading my view amongst the multiple people ahead of me, chatting away, waiting to get in. Eagerness spread amongst their faces as a mixture of cheap perfume and cigarettes suffocate my lungs, the air thick of smoke as I glanced at the dingy entrance way. This club was far from lavish, shadowed in the backbends of a small alleyway, tucked behind a few large buildings, it was more than hidden.

To my surprise, only a couple of men with cameras stationed themselves near the queue, snapping shots at a person far behind me.

The scent of a hundred sweaty bodies circled my nostrils, the guys around here not looking ideally kind, their skin consisting of numerous tattoos forging their arms, a beer bottle stationed in between their fingers in death grip, the odd hopeless drunk sauntering about the place.

Whilst the women dressed in mini skirts and dresses, bright of life with compacts of plastered on makeup and strongly scented perfume, the odd cigarette perched in between their lips, just adding to the unusual environment.

The more I look around, the more I realise I stick out like a sore thumb, you either fit in or you don't, and this outfit was definitely a don't. In all honestly, my options were limited, I could've chose my overalls to match with my black sneakers, but I didn't. Tiny steps.

The chill conquering my skin added to this unusual situation, I didn't have any dresses short enough for this style of clubbing, well I haven't really been clubbing before so I'm sure this is going to go just fine,

I'm totally fucked.

My minds screaming at me to evacuate this entire situation, running far from here but my heeled shoes stay pinned to the floor, too cold to move a stiff limb and too invested in something that's most likely going to go wrong.

I've never openly explored New York since moving here either, but I'd say this was the more abstract side of town, not far off from the highest crime rate in all of the City, it seemed too enclosed to be completely free of any illegal activity.

This club however was known for housing some of the most famous celebrities for the night, I don't exactly know why though. It didn't look any more extravagant than your regular club, I would think the rich would prefer something a tad more visually appealing than this 3 story building.

It only took me a 5 minutes in a cab to get here, not too far from our apartment, but that's probably because we went through the dodgy streets of town to get here.

Masses of people joined the queue which was shortening pretty fast, and the closer I focus ahead, the quicker I realise people are being turned away, their faces blatantly disappointed as their Saturday night comes to an end.

Panic instantly travels to my stomach, the air feeling not so cold anymore as it raps it's choking hands around my throat, I don't have a great feeling about this. I swat my eyes up to the black stricken sky, endlessly hoping for this all to run smoothly, no surprises on the way, fingers crossed.

But my mind is telling me that this isn't going to work out entirely in my favour.

I just need to get in there, that shouldn't be too hard, right?