barefootliam

Listening to a fugue in a funk. Wanted to write poems but why bother?

After dinner, Marvin took me to a nightclub. He yelled into my ear, “This is too tame, let’s go somewhere special” and after a few drinks, a few stupid drinks, I was ready to follow him anywhere. Marvin had wild hair gelled into a dozen cylinders that glowed with LED embedded stars. He wore a dark red leather jacket that glowed under the nightclub lights, occult-looking circles and symbols. He had a body that moved smoothly, sensuously, a snake hypnotizing its victim. I followed Marvin down some steps, out of the back door, down Queen Street West a ways and then North into Nassau Street. A back alleyway in the cold November night. Metal blaring through heavy doors. The doorman gestured with one thumb and we went up the fire escape and into… and into the nightclub out of hell. There was smoke everywhere — not cigarette smoke, nothing so cheap. Not even cigars. These were hookahs, and I dared not wonder what was in them as we inched past the people sitting at the little round tables