Frank gasped as he awoke. His frail body had been shaken repeatedly like a maraca in the hand of an ape. Bob was looming above him, a stern expression plastered across his face.
"Man Marcos been calling me all afternoon, he wants to see you. Didn't you hear your phone ringing?"
"I don't have a phone anymore" frank informed him.
He nodded his eyes became away with guilt "do you think you could organise to meet him soon" he pulled awkwardly at his sleeve as he passed trying to find the words to continue "you shot up everything we had last night frank. Im craving"
Frank nodded weakly clambering to his feet and making his way to bathroom locking the door behind him. He knew what Bob needed him to do but he just didn't think he was up to it.
'What person would want me' he whispered to himself as he stood in front of the mirror. He wondered in what world his sunken and eyes and skeletal frame was attractive. He turned away embarrassed by himself.
He spent a few minutes cleaning himself up but n his opinion he still looked like the same desperate junkie when he emerged from the cramped room.
Awhile later frank was standing outside the the cello bar a few minutes away from his abode. Bob had made plans for him to meet the infamous dealer in this spot but he'd been for ten minutes and still no show. He remained optimistic in his experience distributors of class A drugs weren't usually the most punctual people on earth. But after another 10 minutes frank was unsure if he was going to show. Perhaps Bob had arranged for the meeting to occur within the bar and had carelessly neglected to inform Frank. He picked at the scabs on his forearm 'til they bled.
Surely bob wouldn't be so forgetful. He knew frank was only 20 and thus under the legal drinking age. He turned around to survey the bar, the place was good of any bouncer. He'd been to the place once or twice although never while he was in anyway sober so all of the memories he had of it were rather hazy. It appeared to him as the sort of place that would be a little lax on the law.
He took one last glance around and set off for the entrance. Inside a jazz band played on a small stage, there was a bar and several small tables scattered around, all angled toward the group on stage. The lighting was minimalist comprised of a few sodium bulbs hung from the low ceiling.
The few patrons seemed to congregate in darkest areas each appeared more strange and eccentric then most people frank had ever seen. One man was dressed completely in pearl white from his glistening leather shoes to a snow white suede trilby.
He tried to act causal trying to spot any sign of the dark skinned man he was waiting on which he realised he had very little hope of spotting due to the dim lights. All faces were shrewd in shadows.
"Can I get you something?" A pale raven haired, tall man a few years older then frank called from behind the bar. He jumped startled and made his way to the counter.
"Ill just have some tap water" mumbled the boy uncomfortably wiggling his way on to a stool that was a little too tall for him to manage dignifiedly.
The man dressed in a crisp black shirt and red tie laughed.
"You don't seem much like the water type" he said smirking. He held eye contact with him, so intense it made him feel as if his very soul was being searched. He shook his head slightly trying to banish the train of thought. This always happened to him when he was beginning to get sick, things became surreal to him. He pinched himself and bowed his head.
"I'm a water guy" he replied.
"Hmm a water guy huh. You definitely look like a water guy" he said sarcastically more to himself then in reply. He spun around grabbing a glass off the shelf behind him then unexpectedly returned to looking at frank, eyes crinkled.
"You look familiar, ever been here before" he asked filling the empty glass from the tap.
"N-no" he stumbled over the words the thought of being recognised from
one of the nights he'd been in a binge here overwhelmed him "first time here"
"Must have mistaken you then, although I can't see how. you look quite distinctive"
"Oh eh thanks"
"It wasn't meant to be a complement but take it how you want" he smiled and put the water on the counter in front of the boy "so if it wasn't the booze that brought you in here what was it?"
The young junkie froze brain wracking itself for some form of excuse other then the truth "the music" he spat eyes catching sight of the trio dressed in black matching suits currently on stage playing a strange broken beat.
The older mans smooth lips broke into a wide smile "you've heard of these guys! I fucking live for them. Heard them for the time last month and i think they drilled into my skull with this stuff" he gestured around the room. Frank guessed he was referring to the music. "They're different, aren't they? Not too strange though, you can still tell what their about. They're not trying to seem too out there. And that fucking flute! It's brilliant! Can you believe some people think it's a gimmick, ppfff they don't know what there talking about. The flutes the base it's working so fricken close to the beat it's dangerous!" Frank just nodded along thankful this guy was so passionate.he listened tentatively to the men on stage trying to form some sort of opinion just in case the mans rant did take a pause.
The unsteady melody was unlike an music frank listened to. It was unpredictable yet gentle, something he decided he quite liked. It felt joyous but bold, the same feeling one gets pre copulation when the lights are still on and your standing in front of each other garment less eager to engage in each other.
"It's like sex" he said uttering his inner monologue aloud.
"Mmmm it is like sex" agreed the older man "then so is most jazz"
Frank didn't have the time to be embarrassed about what he'd just said because soon someone was calling his name behind him.
It was Marco and he looked angry.
"Where the fuck have you been? I've been waiting out for 10 fucking minutes and you've been having a fucking drink." He threw his hands around violently as he spoke. "And I call you back and it's not even fucking you who answered you junkie scum. It's some other piece of dirt who can't even tell me where you are!" Marco's was face flushed red. He reached into his pocket and brought out a little baggie throwing it at Franks chest.
His brittle fingers wrapped around it desperately.
"Get in the fucking bathroom before I loose my temper" he threatened.
Frank jumped to attention catching sight of the door across the room marked 'W.C"
"Hey hey hey, I don't like what's going on in here. Get the fuck out" instructed the barman. He wasn't particularly built or menacing looking in fact his facial features were cute and slightly feminine but he had an air of authority about him.
The dealer stopped in his tracks "I don't think this is any of your business" he barked back.
"Yeah we'll I'm making it my business get the fuck out or
I'm calling the cops"
Some time during the argument frank realised he was holding a bag of dope he hadn't paid for and while the attention was drawn away from him he slipped into the bar's bathroom.
Luckily he was wearing his usual jacket which many pocket held all types of obscure objects he'd picked up. It took only a few minutes before he'd discovered a syringe. He entered a cubicle, slid across the small blot as settled himself on the toilet. Gripping the syringe between his teeth as he waited for his smack beef to roast.
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