The familiar sounds of clanking plates rang inside my ear, as I finished the next stack of plates.
Although it's a shitty ass job, I've always got to feel something similar to what you'd call pride when I saw the huge stacks of white porcelain I've been working on for hours.
Sure my job didn't always consist of making the dishes. Sometimes I'd have to take the trash away or wipe the kitchen after service.
And on some occasion I got to even be the barkeeper, but that would just be on lucky days.
For many that would be a nightmare, but honestly that was the best thing that happened to me in years.
When growing up as a red fox in one of the poorest communities of the city, East Blackhaven near the commercial docks,I learned to enjoy the little things of life.
Sure washing dishes the whole day sucks, but it can have it's perks. For example, I always got to smell (and sometimes even taste) the variety of dishes that come out of the kitchen, I could never get enough of Itaylian cuisine.
Maybe some day I'll have my own restaurant...with TV show, contestants I can yell at and a teenage trainee I'd do the most pointless and boring things I can imagine.
But the best part of it that I'm allowed to daydream. The whole day. Sometimes I would dream of the huge mansion I would live in some day, what places I would travel to, or how hard I'd do my hot arctic fox vixen wife.
The day would pass like a blur and eventhough I work for close to 10 hours a day it's always felt like 2.
Frankly I'm quite thankful for the owner, Mr. Galotti, the boar that took me in, gave me shelter and a job, even if it's the worst position a mammal can get on a place like this and only get two dollars per hour.
He saved my life that day and if it ever comes to it, I'd save his too.
For me he's the closest to a father. Sure he's my boss, but he is by far the nicest person I've ever met in my short life.
I guess he had felt sorry for the 16 year old fox that was stirring up the trash-container just to get some food two years ago.
He has a good heart.
After my shift ended I washed my crinkled paws with clean water and headed to the front of the kitchen.
There stood our Sous-chef Kigali, a middle aged impala.
He overlooked the kitchen and was the mammal that'd give me my payment everyday. He can get cranky at some times, but has nothing against me...at least no pepper spray or something of that sort.
"Mr. Kigali." I started respectfully, I've come to know that he cherishes respect from his subordinates as much as he does his cigarettes.
He turned around and looked down on me.
"Ah yes Arthur, good job today hold on a second I'll give you your payment." He replied in his raspy voice which was the result of two decades of chain-smoking.
I took a look around the kitchen. The cooks began to pack their stuff as it was almost closing time. Only a few stood there for a while and chatted with each other. Some even made themselves a dinner to take home.
It seems like Mr. Galotti likes diversity in terms of species.
A cougar, cheetahs, some Goats, a cow and even some rats worked in the kitchen. Of course the predators were more responsible for the dishes containing meat, but some, Mrs. Corova, is a true goddess of the grill.
The "Open Grill Tuesdays" are by far the busiest.
Being an omnivore, Mr. Galotti took a lot of pride in the variety of the meat offered here. Chicken, Ostrich, all kinds of fish and insects. Heaven for predators.
Personally I'm a vegetarian. Why? I don't know I guess I just don't like the texture of meat. I even am allowed to take some leftovers out of the enormously large veggie storage room.
The restaurant is a popular place for both predator and prey after all.
"Here you go kid." Said Mr. Kigali in an unusual friendly voice.
"Thank you Sir, I wish you a good evening sir." the scent of cigarettes came to my nose as he gave me the money.
I put the 20 dollar bill in my pocket and turned around to leave, ready to go home.
"Hey, kid." Started Mr. Kigali
My ears perked up and I turned around. That's the first time he talked to me like that.
"Yes Sir?"
"Some cunt returned a full pizza fungi, because he'd thought the mushrooms were to overcooked. We tried to tell that stupid fuck that the way it's cooked is perfectly normal for a stone oven...Anyway I couldn't couldn't convince myself throwing it away, so you're free to take it." He explained pointing at a pizza next to the stone oven.
"Oh happy birthday to me.." I though as my eyes went wide from excitement.
"Thank you Sir! I'd love to."
"Yeah, yeah." He said in a dismissive tone
Without hesitation i packed the pizza in a cardboard box we always have here in case a customer wants to bring some home, changed clothes and headed through the backdoor.
"See ya." said Mr. Wilk, a 25 year old wolf responsible for the sauces.
"See ya." I repeated and waved him at which he made a small gesture with his paw, not looking up from his cellphone.
The street was dimly lit and wet from a rainfall earlier. A cold wind hit me and I closed my black jacked, checking my surroundings.
Two out of five street lamps were flickering and gave the street a really grim appearance.
I listened to the sound of the working class, drowning itself in alcohol while frying their brains with low-key scripted reality TV productions.
Trapped in their 3 room apartment with their families. Cheating wives, troublemaking kids and cigarette stumps scattered across the flagstone-table.
That's the life of West Hague.
At least it's better than Blackhaven, which succumbed under the shrinking importance it once had as a commercial port, all thanks to the newer, more modern Rotherham port.
West Hague at least had a few marinas where many rich tourists would spend the night and eat in the nearby restaurants.
Almost 60% of all mammals here are employed in the tourist industry, while the other 40% work in the dockyards.
I decided that before I got home, I might settle for a quick shower at the nearby yacht marina at that point I really needed one. You always feel like filth when walking through these streets, even if you're born as filth.
They had free soap, warm water, combs and even a fur dryer. It's as if it's a blessing from some sort of higher being.
I just have to type in the entry-code, which I memorized a long time ago. Easy going.
I can take a shower and brush my teeth what more do you want?
I looked at hundreds of high quality luxury yachts parking at the pier.
I want one of them. The freedom, the adventure, the high sea...just another big daydream for a small fox like me.
The marina is surrounded by numerous hotels and restaurants which are obviously mainly targeted at higher class mammals.
Only a few of them know about the bitter poverty and crime that lies beyond these hotels and casinos in the whole Hague. While West Hague still is quite a safe place, the main Hague, where the dockyards are, on the contrary is much more of a seedy place.
You can barely get outside without getting mugged, but still better than getting shot raped and then robbed in Blackhaven. The order may vary.
Mammals outside the city barely know about the shithole Zootopia is.
When they see Zootopia, they see the inner districts and unique outer skirts. High, shiny skyscrapers and mammals in suits. The city of opportunities, the city to try everything
An utopia and completely impossible for almost 50.000.000 mammals. 40% live in poorer areas where you see. High, whiny housewives and hobos in boxes. The city of gated communities, the city tor try every drug you can lay your paws on.
I stood in front of the cabin. The cabin was rarely used during that time of the day. Most mammals preferred to stay at the hotel then near the water.
I entered the code and went inside.
Precious rows of sinks and shower cabins unfolded in front of me as they were illuminated by the light sensors.
When I first entered this place it was a whole new world for me.
Back in the days, we didn't even have the privilege of warm water...that was exactly two years ago.
I breathed out a loud sigh and tended to my evening routine, after 4 days of simply ignoring it.
The orgasmic bliss I had from the warm water and flowery shampoo tending to my dirty, crusty skin and fur was beyond measure.
I would enjoy this for a while.
Feeling like a newborn kit I started to finally make my way home.
I'm proud of my little 'cave'. I designed and afforded it all by myself.
It even has a lovely view of a concrete wall and some metal pipes where you could hear every mammal within 2 kilometers flushing.
The entrance is a small trap door with a ladder leading to a narrow corridor.
A sickly green colour coming from the seagrass that seems to be shining through some holes in the concrete illuminated my room.
It screamed 'kill me', but no one was here to hear it.
The corridor led to a small room, fully equipped with a mattress, a vinyl player, my record collection, my guitar, a stack of clothes and a laundry machine all made visible by a weak lightbulb hanging from the rooftop.
It still is pretty shitty, but to my old home it's pure heaven.
I sat down on the mattress and searched through my record collection and decided to play some Koy Division.
Oh sweat darkness and melancholy.
I coughed up. Heavily. The coughing became worse and worse over the years. My cigarette consumption? My constant exposure to the damp coldness of the harbour district?
I didn't know. I'm not a doctor and doctors were expensive. It might be cancer or it might just be a very long cold. I couldn't care less.
Others might have already lost their mind if they live their life like this...and to be honest I would have lost it a long time ago...or did I already? Anyway I head a saviour.
A special friend, an angel, my only true love, a goddess, a heroine.
I opened my pencil-case which I owned since my schooldays.
A row of needles and a little bag of white powder smiled at my face.
My heroine was heroin...
Carefully I poured some of the powder on a spoon before heating it up.
I started to shiver. I needed it, my body craved for it. The high is what has kept me alive and sane for a long time.
The best orgasmic feeling I'll ever have.
I compressed my arm with a cloth and sucked the fluid into the needle.
Always snap the air-bubbles out, kids, or you'll be a goner!
I readied the needle to enter my already bruised arm, be it cutting myself, or heroin.
I entered slowly and reached the point where I didn't feel anything at all. You could stab my arm and I would just shrug it off.
At the ready I downed the fluid into my veins.
The beautiful goddess cradled me in her arms as the warmth spread through my body. I felt relaxed. I felt euphoric, knowing that the scars of my past and miserable situation won't matter to me anymore.
Good heavens here I come again.