Antsy. If Pete had to put a word to how he was feeling, antsy would probably be the one he would choose. His skin felt too thin, like it was stretched too tight over his bones, dark swirls of tattoos taut over tensed muscles. He noticed his knee was bouncing, and he stopped it, only for it to pick right back up to its steady, nearly frantic pace when his mind drifted once more.
Pete had to do something to get all of this pent-up energy out. He couldn't just sit and let it bubble up until he felt like exploding. It felt like there was something picking at his skin from the inside, scratching, trying to open him up and seep out through his pores. He rose to his feet, so quick and unexpected that Hemingway, who was curled up and snoring in the corner, woke, startled by the sudden movement.
He snagged his hoodie off the kitchen table on his way to the door, only briefly thinking to pat his back pocket to be sure he had his phone and wallet with him as well. It was almost a habit by now, anyway. He had to be prepared in case this outing ended like some of his others had, with him bleeding and bruised in the back of a cab, barely conscious enough to give the driver directions back to his apartment building.
Hopefully, he mused absently as he slipped his arms through the sleeves of his jacket, tonight wouldn't be one of those nights.
Pete bounded down the stairs and through the outside door of the building, giving the street a quick left and right glance before he hurried across, head ducked against the furious Chicago wind that whipped his chestnut hair into his eyes. With no destination in mind, (though, did he ever have one when he was like this?) Pete let his feet lead him down an alleyway, through a busy intersection or two, until eventually, he ended up where he always did, Angels & Kings.
If he wasn't as familiar with the area as he was, Pete probably would have breezed right by the short building. There wasn't anything special about the bar; it was a good example of a lazy architect and a low budget. One of the windows was crooked, paint was peeling off the exterior in long, cracked strips, and the door never shut properly, so the building had to be padlocked shut at closing. Pete wasn't sure why he found solace in the dingy bar, but there was something about its dim lighting and the steady stream of out-of-towners that made his head feel not so heavy. Well, there was that, he supposed, and the fact that he could always find some way to pick a fight with somebody. A dirty fist fight was something that made the itching anxiousness fade to the back of his mind, and he longed for that every time the feeling arose to the front of his thoughts again.
After yanking open the heavy wooden door, being very careful not to study his reflection too closely in the small unwashed window, Pete crossed the threshold and entered the bar. Immediately, he was surrounded by the musty smell that he had come to find comfort in over time. The dim lighting made it difficult for him to see anyone's face too clearly, and being surrounded in a room full of strangers is exactly what he needed. That was why he loved this place; the anonymity eased a tightness in his chest that he wasn't aware he was carrying around.
He waded through the crowd of dancing bodies in the direction of the bar, involuntarily clenching his left hand into a fist at his side each time somebody shouldered past him or stepped on his toes. He could have swung at the first person that looked at him wrong, but he didn't think that would bring him any satisfaction. He had to let his aggression bubble up to the surface on its own. A few drinks usually sped up the process, made it easier for him to loosen the vice he kept clamped tight on his frustration. Once Pete reached the less crowded side of the bar, he allowed himself to take a seat on one of the wobbly stools near the end. He let out a deep breath and rolled his shoulders to relax them, a virtually useless attempt to free his tight muscles of some tension. Plastering a smile over his lips, Pete raised a hand to snag the bartender's attention.
