Club Montepulciano

Club Montepulciano

         He scanned his mind for all of his first impressions. Number one: he didn’t want to be here. The neon purple lights were making him feel sick, along with penetrating what was left of his patience, but they were the only place his eyes could comfortably focus. Through the soles of his shoes he could feel what must have been at least one hundred beats per minute, and for an ephemeral moment he wondered whether being exposed to such a thing for extended periods could cause nerve damage in his toes. Even though he knew it wouldn’t. From the corner of his eye he caught a flash of bright blue, a trace of bright red, and the hint of platinum blonde. He suffered through a horrible moment of awakening as he realised; she was heading his way.
         “You’re looking particularly arousing,” she said.
         “Thank you,” he said bluntly.
         “The silent type, are we? The big, strong, silent type?” she asked.
         She had placed particular emphasis on elongating the word ‘big,’ and it had been no accident, but now he was at a loss for how to react. If he didn’t say anything then he walked right into her supposedly provocative and presumably scripted foreplay lines, and if he did then he might accidentally end up engaging her in conversation. Neither outcome seemed especially practical. He opted to try and pretend none of this was actually happening, and picked up one of the magazines on the table, investing himself in it absolutely. He read about windows.
         “I won’t hurt you,” she sighed sultrily.
         “I never thought you were going to hurt me, but you’re just a particularly well endowed stranger dressed as Wonder Woman, and I don’t want to have anything to do with you,” he said.
         “You don’t want to have anything to do to me?” she giggled, kittenvoiced.
         “I mean, what, are you paying for university? Do you owe some guys vast sums of money for a crack addiction?” he slurred bitterly.
         “Is it so impossible for to think I might enjoy this?” she asked.
         He did not reply at first but sat silently and appreciated her reproach, it serving as proof that she was able to slip back into reality when pushed. He nodded slowly.
         “Typical attitude,” she spat, turning on her heel and storming off.
         He could scarcely remember why he had come here. At the back of his mind he recalled it being someone’s birthday, but whomever’s it had been, he hadn’t seen them for almost an hour. As he sat, wondering what he was still doing there, an Asian girl dressed in a tattered slave outfit wiggled over to him. In despair, he opened his wallet and threw twenty pounds at her.
         “Take the money, ok? I don’t want you to dance on me. I’m going home,” he said.

         Strolling from the place he felt seedy, and found himself wondering what the derivation of the word ‘Seedy,’ was, settling on the assumption that it was as vile as it appeared. He took one last look at the strip club looming down at him, and wondered, naively and fleetingly, just how such an erection could sustain itself, before bursting out laughing, and disappearing amongst the night life.