The room is thick and the band's playing hard. She, completely lost inside a flat screen LCD. The band spinning through another class war, street hymn. Lifted by the crowd, they pulse. Beat to beat. Beat on beat. Arm over arm, chicken dance to lawn mower. Picking up change and picking up drunk over spun lightweights.
She puts out half a cigarette, trying to cut back. Blue smoke, dyed green with hot pink hovering around blood shot eyes. Air burned. The hopping strobe lights popping up and down. Manipulated by a steel toed filth punk, speedballin. Mirrored by Glamour wanna-be chicks and high school mosh pit trolls. Just out for the scene. The floor, "THUMP THUMP" Thumping, as the rhythm heightens. As their words harden.
Her toon HoTs and DoTs. As she pushes back skull rings and gold bracelets, glitter dipped. Alt-tabs out to check her e-mail. As a bulky Anti-scene groupy breathes against her space. "Beer." He grunts into her blue push up bra, showing from underneath a pin striped cotton T, with Misfits steamed over the chest. Only stopping from staring at her chest to swing his ten ton drunk head, back over to the swarming pit.
She slides into gear. Trying to ignore the leers from all angles. The sub-conscious cheap come on's, biting at the back of her smooth neck. She wisps a beer bottle up with one hand, passing it to the other ready hand. Motions so fluid, done a thousand times. Pops the cap, and slaps a worn out to the point glare, up before dropping him the beer.
"Two Bucks!" She stiffly taunts holding the beer just out of reach. The bouncer eyes the rusty dead weight as he fumbles for his wallet chain. Then leaning closer to her, playing coe. " WHAT!?" He tries, but she ain't buying.
Completely rejecting him by simply flashing two fingers. Then grins a "hurry-the-fuck-up" grin. Holding the hand over her cleavage. So she knows he can see it. The entire bar vibrating with the music. Loud enough to ring your ears for the rest of the weekend. Generated by pawn store amps, duct taped cords and puke stained self-taught instruments.
He gets, why the bouncer just walked out of the doorway. So he hands over the loot. Grabs the beer with his paw rubbing as much of her hand as possible. Smiling and sniffing her air, he drinks deep. Whipping his rubber neck back. Then clammers back into the feeding bio-mass.
As the bouncer slumps back to door duty. She tries to find a clean cloth, to wipe the bar down. Attempting to keep this rat hole of a dive clean or at least lessen the smut film covering it's every inch. It's a habit from home. She sometimes forgets this shit hole isn't her place. After to many hours spent dwelling for another pay check.
Realizing the task's pointlessness, flings the rag back under the bar. Drops her soft chin over her palm sighing, and drifts back off into cyberspace. Angling her head slightly left as she drifts away, exposing a tribal ivy ink. Climbing down from the back of her ear. Down under her torn shirt collar, it's intricate black design flows. Elegantly detailed.
To many E-mails, IMs, groups, and failed PuGs later. The last band finishes up their set and the last dogs are 86ed out into the soaked alleyway. With the final bins of smashed glass and bags of leaking garbage. Foul drips staining a path of bread crumbs, all the way back to the dump.
As the door swings open then closed, she notices the rain. Sounds of rain against metal gutters permeating the foreway. Lifting her heart. Her ear plugs now in her pocket. As the fresh smell sifts into the bar.
It's 4am, and Billy waits by the door smoking a spliff. Ready to lock up. Grabbing her laptop and half cigs. She blurrs out the door. Into the rain. Uncovered.
"Need a ride?" Billy calls attempting to win more time with her.
But she just looks back, holds her hands out and up into the down pour. Smiling. A pure free smile, worn out hot.
Note: This is a short story I wrote a while back. About this fucking gorgeous punk/goth chick, that worked a punk bar. In North Carolina. In a wildly noisy small dive, literally by the train tracks. Just outside the city limits. Sitting in her own little world, but completely aware of the entire room.
Also, yes the southern punk scene is huge.(was at least) Mostly in Raleigh, and around the many collages. Enjoy or GTFO. : )
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