Lucky

my nose was running again, too much fucking coke. but it was the only thing that there was to do at the moment, and when i was waiting for the seasons to change, i couldn't be bothered with anything else.

i blow my nose and look in the mirror, blue hair messily hiding my eyes and the bruise on my lip was getting darker. i sigh and turn off the bathroom light and go back to my living room which was a cramped sofa against a large window, and a little wooden table, topped with my ashtray. the sun was setting over the city and i closed my eyes, shifting back into the pillows. i was tired, but then again, i had slept all day. it was a full body exhaustion kind of tired that seemed to follow me since i moved to the city.

soon the lights would be red, and i would be so numb that i wouldn't be able to feel anything.
but until then, i breathe, and listen, the sounds of cars beneath me, people, footsteps from the apartment above. my own heartbeat. fast and fast and fast.

i try and slow it down, my heartbeat, my life, but it just keeps racing by. like the cars on the street, like the stars at night. and all i'm left with under the noise of the rush is just a heaviness.

whatever, i think, and contemplate lighting another cigarette. my throat hurts and is raspy and i've been smoking too much anyways. so i stop my hand before it reaches the packet and rest my head against the window again. the world goes by and i am stuck here. i don't know what id rather see. what i want from life. when i came here i used to want to be someone famous, a model, or an actor but that apparently hasn't happened. deep down i knew it was a pipe dream. that wasn't my purpose.

i'm not sure what my purpose is, and looking out the window hasn't helped me find it yet either. the cold glass from the window on my cheek feels so good, and i just want to fall asleep right here, but i can't because my body won't let me, and i have to work.

i think about my work, what ive chosen to do.
i feel shameful, guilty, embarrassed even.
but again, i know no one in this city except the man working the corner store, the dealer, and my boss and clients. everybody knows that when you don't make it, when the city's swallowed you in its current and when you're all washed up, then you let yourself go. maybe i have, but it pays, and i can be as high as i want when i work. that, and i feel like im seen, desired, almost, almost, almost famous, if just for a few hours. i wipe my nose, and get up from the sofa. i check my phone, no messages, put on my thick sweater and head out the door. my shoes clack against the concrete steps as i descended floor after floor until i reach the bottom and open the old wooden door. i'm out on the street, noise and light and people all consuming me, and i put my head down and start walking. takes me ten minutes before im outside, the neon red sign hanging over me like an arrow: scum of the earth. i sniffle and head inside, pushing open the doors, past the bouncer and straight to the back where i take off my coat. other guys take no notice of me, they keep oiling themselves up, putting on jockstraps, popping pills, fixing their hair. music blares and i'm sitting in my chair, looking at myself in the mirror. i can do this all day, pick myself apart, but i don't have the time now. i unzip a pocket from my sweater and pull out my baggie and card and start to rack up a few lines. no one notices, it's my routine. i put the rolled up dollar bill to my nose, and close my eyes. once i'm done, i take off the clothes i came in, ripped jeans and a t shirt, until im in my underwear. i get up, leaving my jacket at the chair and go out to my boss, leaving the boys inside. is this okay, i ask. he looks me up and down, and shrugs. he says it doesn't matter what i wear as long as im naked by the time it gets busy. i sigh and go back inside, unzip my pocket from my jacket, and rack up more. i wish i was good enough for real fame.

when i sober back up im sprawled across the blood red couch of the back room and yes, i am naked. crumpled bills are stuffed under my body and littered on the floor and the music is still slowly pumping through the speakers above me. i rub my eyes. must be either closing time, or almost time, and so i gather my bills, and stumble out of the room, pushing through the purple shiny streamers hanging over the doorway. i sniffle and head back to the changing rooms, but before i could disappear behind the cold metal door, my boss called me over with his finger. i knew he wanted to talk about something serious. i hold the wad of cash in my hand, clenched in my fist, and walk over to him still naked. the cold air had my skin prickled with goosebumps and i was about to start shivering. my boss looks me up and down and smirks. he lights a cigarette and tells me that the clients like when they can do whatever they want with me, that they pay him more. i look down to the floor, the strobe lights reflecting off of the dirty linoleum, and then to my fistful of cash. i clear my throat and tell him i should get a bigger cut of what he makes off of me but he laughs it off; tells me that when im ready for the real dark shit then that's when i'll get the good money. i shiver, and nod, and walk back to the changing room, suddenly aware of his gaze, feeling his eyes on my spine, down to my ass, and i hurriedly open and shut the changing room door. i throw my clothes on, and then my sweater because now im shivering up a storm, and i reach for my zipper pocket. i rack up a few last lines before i go back outside, before i go and see the dealer again. i shake the rest of my powder from the plastic bag onto the plastic changing room table and cut it up. no one else is here with me, they've all gone home. i'm normally the last to stay to work, because i do more than just dancing. i mean, that's where you make the money. i stare at my reflection, glitter on my skin, black eyes gazing back at me, and then i look back at the perfectly cut up white lines on the table. i grab my rolled up dollar bill.