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Down-town New York. The monochromatic tones of a dead dark city smear themselves across the surface of my pupils, it’s enough to rape that ‘gung ho’ attitude and leave it lying in the gutter, all cut up, bruised and bloody.
A women’s muffled screams tear themself from the darkness surrounding me.
Amen, this is New York City.
I’m sitting on the corner of ninth and third, whiskey bottle jammed between my teeth I tilt my head back and let the holy water christen the back of my throat, extinguishing my flames with gasoline.
The whiskey burns my insides, I take another gulp and stare into the sky. The rain bayonets itself hard into the ground, like javelins of ice. You’d swear that heaven itself was falling from above. I let the bottle drop from my hand, the whiskey spills out onto the cold wet brick work beneath me, tangling through the midst of purity, tainting all in its path, only to be washed away by the perpetuating downfall. A familiar analogy.
Maggot brain. It’s a rotten Friday night, so I have an excuse.
I tell my feet to find the ground.
They cooperate.
They start walking, without having to be told.
Bottoms Up is only around the corner from here, a sleazy bar with a sleazy name. I run errands for the guy who owns it, make sure everyone’s up to date with their tab, keep business running smoothly. I’ll drop by tonight.
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I'm really getting into the hardboiled/noir style of literature. This is my first attempt at actually writing my own hardboiled stuff so let me know what you think of it.
