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stories & literature

just another night out

by Patrick Groove

It was a few hours before midnight. Outside the night club James-Bond staggered on his own. The rest of the ocean front streets were empty accept for myself and the taxi.

"Need a ride buddy?!", I yelled out the window.

James-Bond stopped for a moment staring blankly at his shoes. His tux was unbuttoned, hanging loosely over his malfunctioning body. Then as suddenly as he had stopped, he began staggering once again in the opposite direction. He had nothing to say.

I sat and paused for a moment. It had been a slow night. Being Tuesday everyone had to work the next day and had decided not to leave their homes. That's was Casablankpace for you. Small town set on routine.

With a sigh I opened the front seat, lit a cigarette, looked into the night, then headed towards the club. If I wasn't going to make any money I was going to spend it.

Grl stood at the door, bored as usual. I could hear the piano plucking and jittering inside. A slight haze spilled out the door, cheap cigar smells followed.

"Hey Grl. See any action tonight?", I asked.

Grl looked at me with interest. "Not really Pat. I kicked a few people out for some minor disturbance. Seems they thought Modstats was a vending machine."

It was a common mistake.

Chuckling softly I proceeded through the door. Dim lights, rich music, and laughter greeted me. Slammy was at the piano, clinking out great hits like, "Pr0n R0x0rz", and "I Love you. ASL Please?". He seemed to be enjoying himself.

I walked over to an empty table, hanging shaded lamp overhead. While pulling out another cigarette and bobbing my head to the music, Schabuda offered me a drink. I ordered two twelve year old scotch's with the cute little umbrellas. You know the ones I mean.

After the drinks has been poured and brought from the bar, a noticed Libris Hanging out by the piano. With a quick look around the room he slipped an envelope into the piano. Libris was the owner. He would have made it into a strip club if he thought it would bring in the green backs.

"Play it again Slam", he said.

"Alright boss! I know you like it!", said Slammy with a big toothy grin. Then with a shake of his head and a few flicks of the wrist the piano was worked.
"Libris, how's the biz?", I asked him as he passed my table.

"Groovy", he replied busy fixing his collar, then disappeared into the roulette room. It was a private room reserved for the rich.

"Bets on 24!", was called out before the door closed. Network19 was working the tables tonight.

An hour later I felt that I had enough scotch for the night. The room was starting to blur before my eyes. "Probably a good time to go for a drive", I thought and with some difficulty got up from the table and headed back outside.

"Be careful on the roads tonight Pat.", said Grl. "You always overdo it don't you?".

"Go hard or go home."

"Go home", she said.


[The moral of the story? Don't write short stories without some idea of what you're going to write. It just makes you look stupid.]

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