Pain-t-Killers

Three Simple Rules

The club lights hit him from the back, showing his dark silouhette. Then they switch back, and from the darkness, he fully reveals himself, embraced by the purple-blue light. That surely was an entrance, even tho it wasn't prepared. 

I didn't recognize him with his loose hair. He is still staring at me. Under the club light, his left eye looks bluer than green. No, wait, his eye is clear blue! Does he have heterochromia?"

"Hey, hi."

He keeps staring at me. Judging me, maybe? He looks like a pagan demigod.

"I'm the girl. From Hawthorne park, remember? You stared at me while painting."

He slowly raises his chin, mute. This thing is starting to get creepy.

"You stared at me for, like, a long time. You must remember it. Both your eyes were green tho."

What a fucking weird conversation am I having. This is unreal. He winces and walks away. Like seriously?! Who the fuck he think he is, David Bowie? I'm pretty sure he was wearing contact lens. Fucking poser. Screw that prick. Travis is back, he holds two cups o'beer in one hand, between his index finger and his thumb, and what i think is a Gin-something in the other hand. I take my beer and set him free. We have our toast, i chug my beer. It sparkles down my throat like soda. My irish blood boils, disappointed at me for feasting him with cheap beer. I choose not to listen to him. It's just a damn party.

Someone once said: "It's a party, have fun!"

I think more than just someone said that. I like parties and i like to have fun, and drink, and everything, you know, it's just... something feels odd. Something feels wrong. Not right. And i'm trying to choke this tought down my throat and keep positive but--

"Where did the other guy go?"

Travis Train has arrived, next stop, my messed-up head.

"Douchebag Bowie? I think he left."

"Aw, man!"

Travis loses it, leaving the cocktail on a sill. I ash my cig in it, not proud of it, nor caring either.

"I tought... we were starting to make progress there."

"What do you mean? Progress on what? Who is that guy?"

I'm confused, yeah, as always, but this time is different. I want answers. I deserve answers!

Trav comes close to my ear, trying to say something, but all i hear is:

"PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP!"

Thanks, and fuck you too, DJ. Now it's pure delirium. Everyone is raving, this can't even be considerated dancing. Sweating people squeezed in a black box, pushing each other, trying to fuck or pick a fight. Beasts. Is this what we are celebrating? Well, before marriage you have your bachelor(ette) party, which is kind of the same thing that's happening here. Contraddictions over contraddictions. Leading to chaos. Leading to entropy. Trav shouts in my hear and i can barely hear him. He agrees on me we need to get out of here. We have to rush all the way out through the crowd. This ain't gonna be a cakewalk. I kill my drink and throw it behind me, he holds it on his chest, like a treasure, closing his arms accross it.

TrevTrain: Go! He stands in front of me, and I follow with my hand on his shoulder, hoping not to lose my grip on him. Almost to the entrance.

"Hey, Cassie! Didn't know you were here!"

Mark "Mighty Mark" Ronson jibbers in my direction. No time for that! I hear a huge clank. The panic door opens. We are outside. Safe. On the boardwalk. We made it. We pant. He sits on the floor, pulling out a joint.