Untitled 001

Untitled Part 1

    The weird, I think maybe Danish? synth pop was pounding through me. The club is dimly lit yet has the most interesting light show. Beautiful swirls, creating a light mesh and turning the floor into some disorienting, Impressionist painting. God, what am I doing here anyways...I should just go home and be high alone. Fuck this, I'll just go out and smoke a cigarette and decide if I really want to leave or not. Oh great, I have to walk all the way through this swarm of drunk idiots to pander to my nicotine addiction. Gross, gross, oh god they're all so sweaty and gross! Wait, are they playing Lust For Youth? Jesus, there is no way I'm gonna stay here much longer. Well, I'm in the alleyway now. Ha, my short term memory is shit right now. Like, fuckin' Memento. Ugh, what an overrated movie anyways. Why am I here again? Oh, cigarettes, right.

    So convenient that cigarette holders and pockets exist. Perfect for each other. Like, gorillas and kittens. Damn, fucked up story that was...why would a gorilla be friends with a cat? Oh my god what is this pointless fucking nonsense filled my brain? I need a lobotomy. Wait, did I just hear something? Probably nothing. I'll just go ahead, light my cigarette and inhale. The burn is so comforting. It's good to have familiar pain, something you can always keep with you. Oh yes, I definitely heard something. In under a second, I have my beretta in my hand and my senses working as hard as possible. 

    "Magdalena..." I release him from the hold I had on him, my gun no longer under his jaw.

    "Jesus, that was quick. Remind me to never try to surprise you again, might kill me before you even realize who I am"

    "Benji, you fucking retard. You know what kind of girl I am." 

    By the way, crushing a cigarette under fashionable black go-go boots? Orgasmic. Ok, I guess now we are walking down the alley. What is this idiot up to? "Spill, got a job for me or are you wasting my time?" God if he doesn't finish laughing at my question and answer soon I'm bringing the beretta back into the equation. "Maggy." "Don't call me that." "Magdalena." "Better." I'm lighting another cigarette, I can just tell I'm going to be needing to relieve some stress. Call it precognitive smoking. Or escapism. Whatever. Oh shit he's still talking.

    "Know that Russian guy, Dmitri?"

    "In the way that everyone does, why?"

    "Well, someone's willing to pay a high price for someone to uhh, poison his borscht." 

    "That was a shitty joke Benjamin and you know it." Oh great, scowling due to my commentary. So weak, I like a man who can fight back. Of course he quickly wiped the scowl off his face. After all, there is a reason the job to kill a huge crime boss is being offered to me. "I'll think about it, thanks." We've parted ways and now all I can look forward to is a line of roxy waiting for me in my room. Taking a puff, I stride through these gritty, neon-lit streets and make my way home.