You wish you'd just stayed on the open field next to the sea, but it's too late now. A 10 minute walk, some simple instructions, and you know you're almost there. You pass the church as instructed, and you turn at the next street. So far so good.
This street is different, though. It almost sounds abandoned, silent. You're submerged in a light scent of bar-bathroom. Of piss. You just walk through it. You're careful not to twist your ankle like you almost did a few seconds ago, the street is made up of these old blue/gray bricks that are too slippery and too crooked for human use. You're pretty sure they're carrying a lot of that urine stench too.
You're looking at your left now. You were told it would be an orange place with a small entrance, that you wouldn't miss it. You didn't.
It's an old building. The paint is faded, eaten away, but what's left of it is rust orange. Ahead of you, a wooden door that looks like it was literally made out of 6 2x4's put side by side. It's dark, carved, and tall. There's two holes, one at either side of the door, and they'd be just big enough for your head to fit through if not for for the black protruding bars that guard them. Right above the door you see a wooden sign, the paint is scaling off, but you can just make out the words. Club Dudua.
This is it. There's no knob, so you walk up to the door and attempt to push it in before it's opened for you from the inside. The man at the door greets you with nothing but his eyes as you take your first step in.
(If you're not skimming, you might wanna click here or here to better suit your imagination.)
Immediately the music hits you, the silence of the street finally broken as you stare at the dimly lit area. This place is made almost entirely of dark, polished wood. Nothing like you were expecting.
To the right you see what you could call strippers. There's 3 or 4 of them entertaining about half a dozen men scattered about. They move like silk. The well dressed men respond in tones no higher than whispers. Further behind them there's the live music you've been hearing. A pianist, a drummer, a double bassist, and a saxophonist who's currently rhyming. Next to them there's two more, it's dark and you can barely see them but you know they're talking to each other.
To the left is the bar. There's dramatic lighting facing directly towards it, so you can see that it's fairly light compared to the rest of the club, a cherry wood tint maybe. You spot the bartender, shoulder length dark hair, a tight fit black t-shirt makes him look almost like a bouncer. He's facing away from you, about to grab a bottle from the glowing yellow shelf, probably for the only person sitting at the bar.
You hear a gunshot. Your attention goes back to the right where it came from. You start stepping back. You see nothing going on, everyone is still in their general positions. It's as if only you noticed. It might be making you feel a little nervous, you can't tell right now, you're not sure what's going on. You look back to the left, the guy at the bar has his drink in hand, a brownish red liquid in a whiskey tumbler shines with the light above the bar. Or maybe you're seeing things, your heart is feeling a little tense right now.
But he's calm. He's wearing a light blue button up and jeans. He's the most casually dressed, he's out of place. You start to realize you're out of place too, and you don't feel like drawing any attention to yourself right now. He sits there, sipping still. Short black hair and a half grown beard, he's not even clean cut. You're not comfortable anymore. You spin on your heel and take a step in the direction of the door, but you're stopped.
Hey, come over here.
Shit.
You're frozen now. But you came here for a reason, you turn back and face his deep set almond eyes, they're dark brown, almost black. He's not half as nerve-wrecked as you are. You're still thinking about the gunshot. Maybe it wasn't a gunshot, maybe something just fell. Maybe it's a special day and there's firecrackers around or something.
You're thinking too much now. You didn't even notice it, but you're up at the bar right next to the man in blue. The bartender puts a glass away and walks up to you. He opens his mouth but words don't come out, I waved a hand to call his attention and he nears his ear to my lips. You catch the beginning of what I whisper, something about pee or Pete or something. Your mind was jumpy, you don't remember.
I ordered for you; hope you don't mind. You'll have a glass of very fine rum, you'll like it. Just sip it slowly.
Well this is shady. You could object but you didn't, you don't remember why. You don't even remember why you even bothered getting here anymore. It feels like a bad decision now. The bartender comes back from another room and brings you a whiskey tumbler with a liquid similar to the one I'm having. You hadn't even notice he had left. Your rum might be a bit more red than mine. I told you it was a fruit of some sort, maybe cherry or strawberry, you don't remember anymore. It was a detail, but you took a sip and it tasted good. You remember that.
I like noses. I said. You're sure of it. You're not sure why you remember those words so clearly, but as soon as you heard them you took a very large sip of the forbidden rum at your hands. I had to pull your arm back down, you would've hurt yourself.
Don't do that. That's dangerous, sip it slow. You just remember my lips moving a little slower than my words. Whatever you're having, it's strong, but it's loosening you up.
You asked about the whole noses thing. I knew it was a great ice breaker, it always is.
Well I mean, it's not like a fetish or anything. I've done some research and all I can find about nose fetishists is they tend to like big noses. I just like how they look on people, or how they'd look better on others than on their respective owners.
You're not drunk enough to take this seriously. You see me taking a sip from my rum and you stare down at yours. It's easy to drink, but you want to keep control. You want to wait a little bit.
There's just a sip or two left, but it's strong. You still have the tart taste lingering in your tongue. You're thinking too much, you've just felt my hand on your back. You're pretty jumpy and you scared me off, but I've got your attention now.
Are you alright?
You're wondering whether or not you should answer. You just nod your head. You don't remember why you didn't speak, you had a perfectly logical reason. Probably.
Okay, good. So it's all about the shape. An elf nose is mostly suitable for people of fairer skin, darker skinned people have a wider variety of noses to suit them, you could say they're luckier. But you know, it's about the same amount of luck since how good a nose looks on you depends on your facial features too. You've got a pretty alright nose, by the way. Don't feel self-conscious.
You're really having this conversation. Were you supposed to? Is that why you came? That rum tastes good, it doesn't even taste like rum. Who talks so much about noses anyway? The music sounds better after a few sips.
So the first girl I ever had a chance with was pretty. Her nose was really round, it matched well with her hazel eyes-- hey are you gonna drink the rest of that?
You look back down at your drink. There's just a sip left now, you might as well. You lift the glass to your lips and tilt your neck back. Then I order you another.
You remember taking that next sip. You laughed at something, you don't remember what but you fell off your chair, you were crying. You're outside, the moon is out and it's shining, it's beautiful. You're walking on the sand now, your body stings. Now you're in an ambulance. Everything is dark. You open your eyes.
It's warmer than you're used to, but the breeze chills. The sun is rising. You don't know how you got to where you are, but you're alone. You focus hard, but the last thing you remember is the flashlight from the medic at the ambulance.
What happened?
