A man sat at an otherwise empty table, secluded in a far corner and surrounded by a haze of cigarette smoke. A large glass was in front of him, abandoned, holding a clear liquid that was almost definitely not water. His eyes were bloodshot, his face had a weeks worth of stubble on it, and his hands were shaking. He stared unblinkingly at the table, not seeing the multitude of petty vandalisms that adorned its filthy surface. The other patrons didn't even register that he was there, their attention being focused on the entertainment that danced on the tabletops for them.
The man, on the other hand, didn't even seem to notice the titillating views that were to be had, so far was his mind from the sensory organs that were feeding it information. Song followed song, and dancer followed dancer, but everything about his small corner of the club remained motionless. Finally rousing himself, he visibly shook himself once, drained his cup, and slowly slid out of his seat for the first time in hours. Walking past the bar, he threw a handful of bills on its surface and wordlessly bagan to extricate himself through the maze of bodies.
Once outside, the man immediately pulled out a cell phone and placed a call, pulling a flask out of his jacket as he did so. He took a quick sip, then lit a cigarette and opened the flask again. He took a long draw on its contents, and gave the slightest of grimaces as the sound that he dreaded hearing but couldn't help listening to played itself once again. The young woman's voice, lively and innocent sounding, contrasted with the animalistic combination of noises that were still pulsing out through the doors.
"Hi, you've reached Ashley! I'm so sorry for missing your call, but I promise that if you leave a message I'll get right back to you. Unless you're a telemarketer or a bill collector, in which case you have the wrong number. Sorry again and I promise I'll get back to you!"
-MF
