Ada nodded her head to the pounding White Zombie beat and took a sip of her drink. She saw the man come up behind her, but acted surprised to the sound of his voice. As he spoke, Ada noticed the odor of stale Altoids on his breath and gin-soaked sweat from his pores. She knew he was talking to her, but she was too busy being bored to listen. Who needs a sweaty drunk with smelly breath anyway?
Peeling herself off of the barstool that she had been attached to for the past half-hour wasn't an easy task. Ada swiftly removed herself from the man's arm's range before he had a chance to pull her back into his mindless droning void. The man gave a small sound of protest that would have been amusing if he had been bothering anyone else.
Weaving in and out of the scantily clad sea of black vinyl and chains, Ada made sure that, if the man had decided to follow her, he would soon get lost.
Ada found a place in a lowly lit corner of the small club occupied only by a face-sucking couple and a man who looked unconscious enough to never wake up again. She quickly lit a cigarette, as she often did when she was bored or tense. Breathing in, the beautiful smoke filled her lungs with one of the best feelings possible; or at least she thought so.
"Those things will kill you." It was whispered from her left where the forever-unconscious man had sprawled.
Ada stared at the man whom she had predicted to die in an hour or so. "Excuse me?"
He gestured to the cigarette, "You know cancer, emphysema. They always say that young people think they can quit and then get so addicted they can't, you know?"
While he spoke, she had been looking at the cigarette as if she were contemplating the use of some foreign object that she had never seen before. When he finished speaking she quickly shifted her eyes to him with the same questioning gaze. "I'm not addicted to them."
The right side of his mouth gave way to a little smile, "Of course you're not."
From the sincerity in his voice, Ada wasn't sure if he was patronizing her or not. She cocked her head to the side like a kitten introduced to catnip for the first time, "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You know what it means." He spoke in a tone of shared confidentiality and rose out of the battered green chair that he had been waiting in.
Ada also stood up from her chair, "I don't think you understand. I just don't smoke them everyday, that's all."
The man began to turn away and then thought better of it, "We both completely understand each other, Ada, and you know it."
He finally turned and began to walk away when Ada did something that she had not intentionally or willfully done in over a month. She grabbed his hand. Also, at this moment, a fight broke out amidst the sea of gyrating bodies, pushing about ten people into her and even more between she and the first man in a long time to hold her interest.
Peeling herself off of the barstool that she had been attached to for the past half-hour wasn't an easy task. Ada swiftly removed herself from the man's arm's range before he had a chance to pull her back into his mindless droning void. The man gave a small sound of protest that would have been amusing if he had been bothering anyone else.
Weaving in and out of the scantily clad sea of black vinyl and chains, Ada made sure that, if the man had decided to follow her, he would soon get lost.
Ada found a place in a lowly lit corner of the small club occupied only by a face-sucking couple and a man who looked unconscious enough to never wake up again. She quickly lit a cigarette, as she often did when she was bored or tense. Breathing in, the beautiful smoke filled her lungs with one of the best feelings possible; or at least she thought so.
"Those things will kill you." It was whispered from her left where the forever-unconscious man had sprawled.
Ada stared at the man whom she had predicted to die in an hour or so. "Excuse me?"
He gestured to the cigarette, "You know cancer, emphysema. They always say that young people think they can quit and then get so addicted they can't, you know?"
While he spoke, she had been looking at the cigarette as if she were contemplating the use of some foreign object that she had never seen before. When he finished speaking she quickly shifted her eyes to him with the same questioning gaze. "I'm not addicted to them."
The right side of his mouth gave way to a little smile, "Of course you're not."
From the sincerity in his voice, Ada wasn't sure if he was patronizing her or not. She cocked her head to the side like a kitten introduced to catnip for the first time, "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You know what it means." He spoke in a tone of shared confidentiality and rose out of the battered green chair that he had been waiting in.
Ada also stood up from her chair, "I don't think you understand. I just don't smoke them everyday, that's all."
The man began to turn away and then thought better of it, "We both completely understand each other, Ada, and you know it."
He finally turned and began to walk away when Ada did something that she had not intentionally or willfully done in over a month. She grabbed his hand. Also, at this moment, a fight broke out amidst the sea of gyrating bodies, pushing about ten people into her and even more between she and the first man in a long time to hold her interest.
