I remember the first time I saw her,there she was dancing in some dinghy backstreet bar.The kind of bars with music that makes sure you remember that you’re just a sorry drunk.A miserable drunk with nowhere to go and not much of a future ahead of you.I was young then, maybe a little too young to be
that cynical about life.But hey,which age is too young to hate you’re existence?I was on my third or fourth beer,im not
sure which.But I was at that point where the sight of the waitress or really anything in a skirt caused impulsive blood rushes to the wrong head.But anyway,back to you my dancing queen.She had on this cheap make up,the kind that separates your typical whores from the classy escorts you can’t afford.The kind of make up worn by women who are fighting a losing battle against the sands of time.She danced as if she was only nerve endings and the music had taken over her body.I wont indulge you with the unpleasant details of how but that night she ended up back at my depressing single room ‘apartment’.
But at 3am that night or morning,depending on how particular you want to be,I woke up to the smell of cheap cigarettes and a unnutural amount of ash in my favorite coffee mug.A present from my mum,I wonder how she would feel about some whore defiling it.I guess ill just have to add that to my long list of reasons to hate myself and an even longer list of reasons to drink myself to death.
I have alot of things i feel bad about in my life so i tend not to dwell on either one of them.She saw me wake up and must have figured out it was because of the smell of her cheap cigarettes.To be fair i like how they smell,they smell like acceptance,acceptance of decadence and self loathing.I dont know why but i just never seemed to pick up the habit,I guess the bottle is a possessive lover and doesnt leave much room for a mistress.But she doesnt know this so she looks at me with eyes filled with contempt that seemed to say that i cant really complain because”you get what you pay for”.And the price I paid definitely wasn’t for a premium service.In all honesty,no one should haggle
the price of a womans body.But i must’ve been the only one willing to take her home that night,haha a slow night i guess.
thats not a good reason,but blame capitalism. The economics of decadance is a tricky one.With each long drag she takes from her cigarette I can see the hate seething from her body,I wonder if it’s as much for me as it is for herself.When i got her here i put a perfomance fitting of a proper drunk and probably fell asleep on top of her.Not that I remember or care much.I wonder why i always do this,get drunk,rent a warm body and feel even worse after that.Like some perverse form of self punishment.