The air was thick and heavy and held her close like a blanket, comforting her as she staggered down the road. Her make-up was smeared on her face and her clothes were creased and crumpled from the night before, with her leather jacket hanging from her handbag by her side. She walked barefoot, but was too proud to consider this another walk of shame. She was still drunk.
Alison reached into her bag and pulled out a small business card with his details on it. If it wasn't for his advice she would never have gone to that meeting. If it wasn't for him she would never have met Shane. If it wasn't for him she would never have relapsed and she wouldn't be here right now. She screwed the card into a tight little ball and dropped it to the floor. She wanted to vomit but instead swallowed hard and staggered on. She didn't have far to go.
Her nostril was stuffed and empty and it caused her purse to weep. She couldn't stand it. She wondered if either would ever forgive her, if either could ever recover from what she put them through in the night. Her brain knew it. She could feel it, swollen with the grief, the guilt, the agony. It was swelling and trying to crush her skull. She couldn't escape the thought that the pain was thoroughly deserved.
She wanted to run away, to get out of her shitty little life. She wanted to move to Chicago. She didn't really know why Chicago, other than it was the only city she could name in Illinois and she only wanted to move there because she liked the way it sounded. She liked the way Illinois rolled off her tongue. It sounded beautiful to her. It left her with a pleasant tension in her chest and she felt foolish for thinking that way. Still, she had her mind set. One day she would get out and move to Chicago, Illinois. Lake Michigan beckoned. It would be her new home.
Turning the corner, she could see her destination across the damp street. The Bucket of Blood stood out from its surroundings, although its exterior didn't match its name. It looked like an ancient building, with its white, cracked paint and black beams it appeared to be from Tudor times. Smoke lazily rose from the chimney and disappeared into the grey sky of early autumn. It beckoned her. Formerly the Green Witch, it was once a family orientated bar, but when the owner died it became desolate, rotting in the skyline. Several years passed before a collection of rich students took it over and turned it into a lousy dive bar. It soon became a cult venue. Walls were lined with old tour posters, leopard print wallpaper and drunken graffiti. The floor was mostly wooden except for a small patch of thread bare maroon carpet by the jukebox and the ceilings were a tobacco-stained beige. The place reeked of mould but nobody cared. It was a venue for slobs and drunkards. The booze was cheap and nobody gave a shit about any rules.
The heavy wooden door creaked as Alison pushed it open and stepped inside. She was welcomed by the sound of Bo Diddley's "Who Do You Love" and the usual dank aroma of the place. She suddenly felt violently nauseous. Behind the bar, her favourite tender, Joel, was standing, twisting a dirty rag into an empty tumbler. They'd fooled around a few times but it had never amounted to anything serious. She knew she could easily get a free drink out of the guy with just a wink or a smile, but she couldn't face him now. Fortunately he hadn't noticed her, so she walked straight past the bar, trying to ignore him, and headed for the back door hoping for some fresh air and a clear head.
Outside, Alison saw the exact site she hoped to see - her closest friend, Lucy, in her finest form. She was slumped over the only table, unconscious with her face cradled in her arms. She was a beautiful, slender, brunette and Alison loved her dearly. She didn't dare wake her. Instead she picked up the half consumed bottle of white wine from by her side and took a long heavy drink from it. Sighing from refreshment and choking back the vomit she raised the bottle back to her lips and drained the rest of it. It warmed her gut and she started to feel human again. She started to feel a lot better. She started to wish she hadn't thrown that card away.
intrigued...
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