Nashville I

Things were a lot cleaner here. And people were much skinnier. Also, the constant music was no longer from crackling speakers inside and outside the bars but emanating from live performance and it was no longer pop rotations and trap rap but pop country or rock n roll. But all tourist alleys had the same distinctive smell of tacky souvenir gotta-have-its. The city was much more itself a couple blocks away. But we would start here. Orient ourselves a bit. The Cumberland River actually seemed pleasant enough to swim in on this waterfront. But what was similar to New Orlens was that people around us were still getting debaucious in the early hours of the evening. 

Night already? God I had to get some sleep. The last of Zeke’s pills were helping do just the opposite. Plus I knew there was a version of me out there who was well rested. That strange fact keeps you wide awake. I was scared to close my eyes and miss infinite possibilities that lay before me. If that doesn’t describe anxiety I don’t know what will. I should take Chewy’s advice and stop worrying about that stuff. If it’s not in front of me it doesn’t matter.

“This area seems to be one of the more popular ones.” I said to Chewy. We had parked and paid the exorbitant meter fee before wandering off. 

“Oh it definitely is.” He said, we watched as a drunken bridal shower walked by and I couldn't help but notice that the bride-to-be was only wearing one shoe.

“Jesus, it’s a Thursday isn’t it?” I said. I tried to check the date on my phone but I realized it was long behind me. Sunken into the past that I no longer cared for like some fossil. 

“Tuesday.” Chewy replied as he tugged at the leash and pulled me forward. “Yeah I'm getting a lot of stuff. Lots of doorways around here. Like dimensional doors. Be careful which you enter. We don’t want to lose a trail.”

“Alright, It’s not like I really get to choose. I’m just trucking along, accidentally plane shifting when I'm trying to find a shitter.”

He sighed. “Well maybe you should work on that? Or does the trying scare you? Same reason you hate puzzles more than a hundred pieces.” 

Puzzles are just tedious. 

“Anything below a hundred is for children.” He added.

“Alright, alright.” 

It wasn’t the trying that scared me. I just wouldn’t know where to begin. And the headaches it gave me. And the unknowing. Not knowing where I was going before I went there. No, I think I’d stick to the world I was in unless there was an emergency. Besides, Chewy had caught a scent. So Tim must be sharing this one. For now.

Chewy excitedly started pulling us around the strip of bars here. Up, down. We must have walked it a dozen times. Peaking my head into different bars. Or late night record shops. He was catching whiffs on people. I had asked where they had been, who they had seen. Most were friendly enough. But we went to a lot of dead ends. The night winded on and we filled up on hot chicken, biscuits, and bourbon. It wasn’t gonna be a repeat of New Orleans but if we were as close to Tim as Chewy thought but I needed a little courage. The revolver tucked into my waistband, surprisingly enough, didn’t give me enough.

“Here. This is the strongest I've smelled.” Chewy said. “He was here. Or he still is.” Chewy’s fur bristled up like a mohawk. 

It was a bar called Funky Chicken way outside any popular tourist destination. The neon sign was only half lit up. The dancing emblem looked cooked and ready for a soup instead of its normal lively self. With it’s boarded up windows it reminded me of a speakeasy. Well maybe a speakeasy that crossed with a biker bar. And they had a firm no dogs allowed. 

“If you find him in there. What are you gonna do?” Chewy looked nervous as I looped his leash around a light post. It was in front of a small shrine with some lit candles. It looks like some guitarist had died and her fans had lit an effigy. Some CDs laid there, some notes, mostly pictures that you would see on a magazine article on an artist. 

“Well.” I thought. “I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out. I’ve been doing alright winging it so far.” 

“Yeah, that’s because I've been around.” He growled lowly. “Just. Look. Be cool. Don’t do anything rash here. You gun him down here and you’ll be caught for sure. And then where does that leave me? Where does that leave us? You stuck 25 to life!”

“I don’t plan to go to prison, Chewy.” I scratched him around the collar. 

“I know that too. I can smell it on you.” He paused, looking worried. If he wore shoes he’d be shuffling back and forth and looking down at his shoelaces. “You’re sad. I know. Depressed even. But you still got me. And there are gonna be days after Tim. We gotta plan this out. Be stealthy about this.”

I thought on his words. He didn’t know everything about how I was feeling. How badly I was hurting. He couldn’t. He might feel love, but he never had a soulmate. And never had them ripped away. After that, the days are too long with nothing but regret to fill them with. After something like that... What are a few happy days that might maybe come down the road one day? How could hope hold a candle to the warmth I once felt. The grief, it's a prison. I hold dear my freedom. I don’t want to move on. I’d rather that small flame that lights up this cell I live in burn me in reminiscence. Just staring at it only highlights the bleakness around me. 

No. No, if Tim was in there I might make quick work of him. And save one bullet for me. We would go out together in quite the display. And I wouldn’t have to suffer jail. But god... I was a coward, I really couldn’t stomach shooting myself. It made me squirm thinking about the action. The thought of doing it here in a bar around people having a jovial time seemed to make it worse. And Chewy too. Shit. Having anyone concered for you makes it much harder to kill yourself. I wish he could care less. But that’s the most tragic thing about a dog. Tragic and so goddamn beautiful, I wish the world was like how they saw it. 

“I won’t make a move on him, he won't make a move on me. It’s too public.” I finally said, pawing my gun in my belt, readjusting it. “Maybe he’ll have some answers anyways. Maybe he can tell me how to get her back…” 

“There's no coming back from that. It’s a rule of the universe.” Chewy said with furrowed brow, his whiskers angling down some. 

“I’ve seen her Chewy. She’s talked to me.” 

He shook his head. “I stand by what I said. All just pale reflections my good man. Refractions in a kaleidoscope. Don’t make a move in there. Promise me?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ll be sneaky” I said, finally.

He laughed and relented. Still not quite believing my words. “Sure you will be.”

~

The bouncer informed me it was Bootsday Tuesday and I didn’t know what the fuck that meant until I entered. What it meant was that it was line dancing night. About 30 plus individuals, most of them couples and clad in cowboy boots and hats were dancing, sweating, and drinking inside the Funky Chicken. It was a sight to behold. 

A man clad in the largest cowboy hat I've ever seen was DJing the event. He’d call out a name, like the Dixie Cutter, and everyone would hoot and holler and fall into line doing a particular honky tonky stomping dance. It was astonishing really. People from all walks of life falling into it perfectly. Big smiles on their faces. All coming together to appreciate country music and a certain way to wiggle to it. It also unnerved me in a way. Like I had just walked into a cult meeting I was not prepared for.

I kept to the walls of the bar. Trying to blend in with the people at the various hightops around the dance floor drinking instead. Either sitting out a song or enjoying watching their friends dance. I scanned across faces and saw no one I recognized. Would I even recognize him? 

I couldn’t help the feeling that he keeps changing in my memory. The clarity of him fading in and out of a shadow. Maybe his hat was a different color? Maybe I was remembering his face wrong? A little time erodes all things, and I was beat to hell when he came for us. What if I was wrong? I was wrong many times before. 

But I had to stick to my gut. And my gut said he was not here. Chewy had nothing to worry about. There were a couple people here with cowboy hats with the feathers along the band but they didn’t strike a chord with me. Then again, maybe it wasn’t a cowboy hat after all? No, don't start doubting it all now. 

He isn’t here. 

I had to believe that. Partly because I assumed he wouldn't be dancing. I couldn’t imagine a man like him practicing his toe taps in his mirror. People will surprise you though.

I kept searching, just to be sure.  One last lap I told myself.  I pushed around the edge and worked my way to the other side of the room. I crossed over old black and white photos of country singers on the walls as well as signed regalia among the brown brickstone and windows clamped up shut. Here was the less crowded side of the bar with only one pour station that the bartender worked out of. Fewer people were situated on this side. Here they seemed the business wasn’t dancing, it was drinking. I smiled at that thought. People after my own heart.

I placed myself appropriately along the watering hole thinking that I should ask the bartender what he knows. In cop shows bartenders usually know stuff, wasn’t that right? But the bartender was keeping busy. The pretty lady next to me seemed like she wasn’t. She slid over to me. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” She asked. I was astonished for two reasons. One, a woman has never ever offered to buy me a drink on account of my balding pattern and fat neck. Two, she was familiar in all the wrong ways.. Her eyes were different but everything else was scarily close. Her button nose and high cheeks, her face even held the same scars from acne. She didn't have that gap in her smile but her style was like hers. She wore a flannel and leather jacket with jeans and her auburn hair fell in tight curls under a brown panama hat, she even wore a red bandana around her neck, like a boy scout would. She stared at me curiously. I was still enthralled, my eyes washing over her. She could have been a sister of my late wife. My curiosity didn’t seem to scare her off, she spoke again. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She smiled and sipped from her bottled beer. “I like that necklace, can I see it?” She asked.

I clutched the small leather pouch around my neck. “Thanks,” I finally said. Still staring. “I got it in New Orleans. After I was cursed, I think.”

“Cursed,” She laughed. “We all have our curses don’t we? It feels that way sometimes.” She took another swig. “I know all about curses, honey, I'm a witch after all.” She curled her fingers and pretended to vex someone. 

I snapped out of it and scanned the room one last time. Making sure this wasn’t a ploy of his. Eased, I sat down. I might have run this encounter up to chance back in Arizona but now. Now I knew Chewy had lead me here for a reason and this doppelganger was here on purpose. So I'd see what the cards had in store for me.

“Witches like beer huh?” I smiled genuinely, feeling normal for a second. 

“Love them, and love sharing one even more.” She smiled back seeing me relax, seeing me snap out of my stupor. 

“But really, with me?” I asked.

She nodded. “Is beer alright?” She asked. 

I nodded in return.

The first sip washed away my worry for this woman. But that was on par with what alcohol does. Washes the worry away on the first sip and brings it back stronger on the last. 

“Will your missus mind?” She asked. Pointing to my wedding ring.

“Hmm, you tell me?” I asked. But there was a pang of hurt in my heart. Looking down at that band. It’s counterpart buried now. 

She thought a second. “I don’t think she will.”

“And what about you?” I asked over the loud twangy music. “Are you here with someone?”

“Nope. I’m here alone.”

“Me too.” I replied.

“I could tell.” She shrugged, “You look lonely.”

“Shit. Nursing a beer while everyone is dancing is about the loneliest look I can think of.”

She laughed at that then leaned in. “I'm mourning.”

“Oh I'm sorry.” 

“Yep” She drew out her sigh and continued. “The girl out front. The one in all those pictures. She was a musician. A local girl. One of my favorites. She killed herself.”

“That’s terrible. I’m sorry.”

She finished her beer and I followed suit. She stared off for a second. Somber. Then she shook her head. “They found her with a needle in her arm. Overdose. Dead.” 

“Jesus Christ.”

“I know. Terrible. And the worse part is. Is that when you listen to her songs, the heartbreak in them. You know she was on this path. And I can’t help but be ashamed.”

“You? Why are you ashamed?” I then noted to the bartender. “Can I get the second round?” I asked her. She nodded, not caring. 

“I’m ashamed because I liked her music better when she was depressed. When she was abusing that shit. It was dark and melodic and the lyrics were so good because you could hear the hurt.”

“Oh.” I scooted her a fresh beer which she took and drank long from. 

“Yeah. In a way... I liked seeing her fall apart. Isn’t that terrible? I suppose that’s a big draw for all of us though. All of us love when an artist is suffering. Love to see them killing themselves. We all clap and cheer. It entertains us. It’s when they make their best work. Don't you think?”

“Well I think maybe it just resonates more.” She let me continue. “Those feelings of sadness, of hurt, and of all our fuckups, they linger more than the good stuff. For me they do, at least. If she sung about that, there’s no shame in liking that. ”

She thought about my words. “I don’t know. All I know is that I liked her music more when she was killing herself. I enjoyed it. I cried to it. I profited from that pain. And then when she sobered up. Her music was good but it was just lacking that edge. That dreadful vibe I found so endearing. In the back of my mind I kind of wanted her to get back to that place. Make music that I enjoyed.” She hung her head. “A lot of her fans did. Can you imagine that? People screaming to kill yourself for their entertainment? Saying you are less than because you are happy now? Clean now?” She scoffed.

“I can’t help but think we had a part in her relapse. You can’t give someone your attention. Give them your praise and worship and endless critique, then wipe your hands of them when it’s inconvenient. When they disappoint. So fickle. So ugly. Can you imagine having a hundred people’s attention on you? Scrutinizing you? Now imagine a thousand. A million.” She scoffed again. “What a crock of shit. No one will take responsibility. But I will. She made better music when she was killing herself. I thought that time and time again. Maybe I didn’t say it. But that’s what I thought. That’s what I put out there. Out into the world. Now. I got my wish. And she’s dead.” 

I didn’t agree with that but I could tell she didn’t wanna hear it. “She might not have wanted to kill herself. It was an overdose after all.” I reasoned.

“Come on.” She glared at me. “People who do that shit know what they are getting themselves into. You have to wanna die just a little bit. Or at least not care. Sounds like suicide to me.”

I opened my mouth to try and ease her a bit. Or reassure her? I didn’t know what I was trying to do. Or how to say it. Instead I placed a hand on her back. “I’m sorry.” I sighed. “You’re carrying a little bit of her pain now. As reparation. That’s better than most.”

She drank again. I joined her. She nodded at that. Eyes raising up from the bar the first time in our conversation. “I guess so. Pain don’t ever die does it? It just feasts on the next someone. You know the worst of it?” She smiled glumly.

“What?”

“She's gonna be famous now.” She beamed teary eyed. “I see it. I can picture it. Everyone loves a tragedy. And they know how to market it.” She raised her hand and panned it in front of us. Like we were looking at some imaginary billboard of the future. “Her music is gonna be huge. Huge I say. A household name. Like how the same shit happened to Van Gogh. They are worth more once they die. It’s like now there’s proof that she wasn’t faking a thing. People are gonna think her music is beautiful in the tragedy. True pain that she was spilling out there for us. We can tell after the fact,” she continued. 

“Fuck. Makes me sick. Who cares if it is all make believe? Who cares if she sings about jumping from a bridge but hasn’t done it before? It’s all make-believe, the world is all make-believe.” 

She tapped the center of her forehead. Pressed it so hard there was a red mark. “In here is all you have. What does it matter? If things are authentic or not? It was authentic to me.” She looked up at me. Tears streamed from her cheeks. She even cried like my wife. But her eyes didn't have those crows feet. They didn’t have that patience behind them. That love and understanding. The warm sheltered place from a stormy life. 

“Will you dance with me?” She asked. Tears gone. In an instant it was like she was put back together. I was embarrassed I was even worrying about this stanger a second ago. 

“Uh, I don’t know. I’m not much of a dancer.” 

“I know that’s a lie, you’ve softened me up, you owe me a dance. Come on.” She smiled but I was still unmoving. She leaned in. “I didn’t ask you if you were much of a dancer… I asked you if you would dance with me?” She gave me a lowly look. But then her patience died away and she shrugged. “Whatever,” she said as she hopped down and made her exit. 

Just like that. Gone. 

I almost felt used. Now a twinge of regret struck through me. I didn’t want her to leave yet. I took out my wallet to pay for our drinks. While opening the cracking leather something slipped and fell to the bar counter. It was folded up plastic. At first I thought it was a condom and my cheeks went flush. But I haven’t kept a condom in my wallet since I was a teenager (It expired before I ever used it. Yes, condoms expire. Shows how much action I got in my younger years.) 

What lay on the counter was a folded up playing card that slowly unfolded itself with no resistance trapping it anymore, like a flower turning towards the sunlight. It had the cosmos on the backing. I prodded it with great hesitation. Scared of what it held. I slowly turned it to face me. 

Inside I saw a dancing man in a renaissance court. He looked jovial but behind those rosy cheeks and laughing eyes he held a mystique. A man that acts through inaction, eyes that see but never stare, ears for knowing and can always hear a tune on the breeze. He wore jester's clothes and laughed as everyone’s attention was on him. They mirrored him. Followed him. Dancing around him. 

Behind was the king of the land who was sad and unamused. His thin face pondering something. Ruminating on the madness that he was witnessing, and how everyone around him was enjoying it. He and his faceless black knights to his sides saw the jester for what he was. I felt… No I knew, that was what the jester smiled at, a joke beneath his joke. He smiled at the uprising of the king's court, a small rebellion. Jovial at the gallows. It was a small scene. Nothing to get upset about. It was from an innocent enough source. But all things start small. All things start small. 

The words along the top and bottom read in bold. “THE FOOL”  

~

Madame Lyra chuckled to herself as she flipped this card over. She took in the dancing man with all her being. Her cheeks welling up in a smile. Life breathed into her. 

“The fool is a powerful card. A powerful mantra. It is a warning and beguilement. It stands for ignorance. Are you ignorant?”

My eyes had dropped low and I could barely concentrate. Her words seemed to be coming from all directions inside my head as I sat on this seesaw. “Ignant?” I asked.

She laughed. It was more like a cackle. It made me feel like I was unsafe here.

“The fool brings ire to himself. How he operates is different from others. He sees things and laughs when all others cry. And cries when all others laugh. It is a lonely path to walk. One that can be dangerous if you do not care for yourself. If you don't protect yourself. People will be looking at you. Looking for you. Hating you because you are different. It will attract attention.”

“People think ignorance is vile. It can be. It can be a tool as well. That is what differentiates the fools from others. He sees all. He knows all. He chooses to ignore the unsatisfying things. He laughs at the tragedies of life. Because life is a tragedy. The fool and the sage are closer than you think. Where one looks to enlighten others the fool enlightens only himself.”

She smiled. 

“You have a choice with how you go forward. What part of yourself, your life, will you embrace? It will make you different. They will look at you strangely. But do not be afraid about what is inside, what makes you different makes you stronger. Dance to the music that you feel. Dance to the tune that you hear among the breeze. It’s there and if it’s not, it still is.”

She looked me over and huffed. Disappointed that I was practically falling asleep. But I was so so tired and everything was spinning. I had to close my eyes just to keep things still. She faded out of my vision. 

Until, she smacked me over the head with a bangled hand. The clatter of her metal bands on her wrist sounded like bells. I was paying attention now. Wide eyed, gawking at her. Everything was shifting behind her. Dead figures standing behind her and matching her smile. White smiles on shadowed figures. Giggling. Brimming with energy of jovial and hellsih nature.   

Lastly she said.“It’s all a joke my dear. So why aren’t you laughing?”

~

“Can I have that dance actually?” 

I had hunted her down in the crowd. The line dancers had cleared and now couples were shuffling out for a slower song. She smiled and placed down her beer. 

“What made you rethink?” She asked, looping her arm through mine. 

“Well. I think I would regret it all my life,” I tried to give her my most disarming smile. “Plus, knowing you had no one to dance with tonight... that just feels wrong.”

She smiled and brushed her hair back, doing so, she glanced near the entrance but still conversed with me. “All your life huh? You’d think about me that long?”

I shrugged. “It might not be that long.” I spun her around. And stepped on her toes when I brought her back to me. We both laughed but I was more embarrassed.“I’m sorry. Last time I danced was at my wedding. Long time ago.”

“What did you dance to?” She asked, looking up at me. I almost felt like I was there now. Maybe it was just the beers talking. She seemed so much like her. Like she was my wife in a different world. One where we had different lives. One where we never met, we existed still but we had missed each other and were different because of it.. Changed. Maybe she was her? Maybe Chewy had it wrong. Her death wasn’t the lynchpin. 

Or maybe I entered this bar and walked into a shadow world. One with similar faces, all dancing together in a purgatory as they waited for their reflections to claim them. To bring them back into the light. There was something dreamy here. The way the multicolored lights painted everyone's faces. The way the music thumped and was drawn out like a slow cyclone. Twisting everyone's bodies and passions together. 

“We danced the two step.” I said, trying to ground myself. I was slipping. I shrugged. “We planned some dips and other moves. She liked to tango so she did some of that flair. She loved to dance. Shit. I wish I danced with her more.”

“I’m sorry.” She said, she laid her head on my shoulder. “No one likes to dance with me. It feels like no one has seen me or even looked at me for a long long time. Except for you.”

“What’s a long time for you?”

There’s more to her story. I could tell by her voice. 

She thought for a while. “Over a hundred years.” She settled on. 

“Hmm. A hundred huh? So that would make you quite old?” 

“Exceedingly. But you should never ask a girl her age.” She cackled, and in the different light of the shifting dancefloor I spotted a madness to her. Maybe we shared it. 

“Well whatever it is, you look good for it.” 

She blushed. As we swayed we started the simple two step. No longer just swaying back and forth. Now we were rotating and making our way around. I mixed it up and spun her around. Pulled her around my body, she bounced off my belly. We went into a spin and picked up speed. I could recall my wedding dance to a tee. And she followed suit almost too well. Like she knew it too. As the music settled down I saw her glance once more at the door. 

“How do you know our dance?” I asked unnerved. 

“I’m just following you silly. You are a good leader.” Louder than those words were others, ones that ripped through my mind still in her voice.

“He showed me it, to be truthful.” And as I stared at her astonished, I could tell from her gaze that she had sent me these words. She was talking to me subtly. Directly to my consciousness. 

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” I said as I stopped our routine. We were now just doing a small sway. I had lost all will to move with this woman. People hovered and twisted around us not caring. “This is all too good to be true. I’m being fucked with.” I stated.

She spoke again directly to me. In my mind. “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.” I wanted to push her away. To run out of this snare I was in. But she knew more and she kept talking to me as she pretended to dance with me. “He asked me to keep you here. He was powerful, I could sense it. I’ve had to deal with his ilk before, to get these powers. I know better than to buck a thing like him when they ask me to do something.” She pulled me close trying to get me to pick up speed. Trying to play it like I wasn’t a fly in a spider's clutch. She was toying with me. 

I responded to her “You asshole. Do you know what you’ve done?” 

She almost looked shocked. God, she’s a good actress too. 

But I saw her eyes budge a little. I followed her eyes to the entrance. Headbeams pierced through the window. They passed like a spotlight over the crowd and as the car turned I saw it was a large black SUV pulling into the parking lot.

“What did you do?” I asked, stunned. They found me. I saw she was almost on the verge of tears.  

“I don’t know what... I don’t know what you’re saying. I just wanted to dance.” She backed away from me and into the crowd. I watched the front door swing open as a mindless couple came through. Behind them, four men in suits poured out of the inky car. Straightening their ties in unison. 

Fuck. Sunglasses. At night. 

I abandoned the dance floor and pushed along the sides to find her again. I gripped her arm. 

“What did you do? Tell me!”

“He asked me to keep you here. To dance with you. I’m sorry!” She was stunned.

“What did he look like?” I asked in a fervor. 

She was mouthing some words that didn’t seem to carry over the music. Something wasn’t letting her. She wiped her tears and pulled her hat down, shielding her eyes. I saw an image twirl out of the lights and reach me in my mind's eye. It was him standing against a doorway. A white and black Hawaiian shirt loose on a skeletal, tall figure. Sunken cheeks hidden under a plaid Kangol hat with a white feather along the side.

“Him.” I uttered in a growl. 

“Him.” She said and her eyes widened at something behind me. I didn’t have to look back to know they had just entered. “I can help!” She pleaded. 

“Yeah you bet your ass you will.” I dragged her to the back entrance and we burst through the security door. One last look back and I saw the men like statues peering around at the dancing crowd. They saw the commotion that we made running through the fire exit and sprang forward in chase.

“They saw us.” I said as we made our way into the alley. Some people were smoking cigarettes out here, looking like cowboys and a punk rockers had a gaggle of kids. She started ahead. “This way,” she waved to me to follow. “We can get back to the main district and lose them.” 

I didn’t even take a step towards her. I had a choice. I was brought here for a reason, whether it was a trap or a test I didn’t know. I was here now, at a crossroads. Something was simmering under my skin. I tasted the smoke in this alley as it covered the back of my tongue. I could feel everything breathing around me. The worlds under our world. I knew this night was special and I was special too. Why was I running from that? I knew I was a coward, sure. I accepted the fact I wasn’t a fighter. Nor was I a hero in any given action movie. But I could fight in my own way. I could take control. I laughed. 

“I’m not leaving my dog!” I pulled back and headed to the front. 

She moaned. “What the hell are you thinking?” But she still followed me. 

I tucked around the corner as the exit door burst open. Three men poured out. They started galloping toward me. I almost tripped as I skirted around the corner. Chewy was barking, running back and forth and tangling himself up in his leash. 

“Hey buddy! What’s up with your dog?” The bouncer said 

“They are here! They went in!” Chewy was yelling.

“I know!”

“Who’s this?” He asked, sniffing at the girl, a little calmer. I didn’t answer. I unclipped his leash and pulled it free. The headlights of the SUV burst open, almost blinding us. They were so much closer than I expected, they must have parked in the handicapped space, those assholes. There was no going that way into the street. The driver was in there shifting the car into gear. I couldn't quite make him out but I heard the car crunching gravel under the tires. 

We were being surrounded. All the while being blinded and bathed in a bed of light. I held the girl's hand and lept forward as the three men who looked like life sized thumbs turned the corner. They slowed down and the front one even smiled as we opened the door back into the bar. 

The bouncer struggled to get off his stool “No dogs in there!” He shouted. 

I cracked the door open and saw there was one more suit waiting for me inside. He was by the coat rack scanning the room. He dropped his hand from his ear and cracked a grin as he noticed that I was caught between him and his men. I closed the door. 

“It’s not a bar. It’s not a bar.” I said. 

Chewy was growling beside me. “You're not gonna..?” He asked.

I nodded. 

“Oh this is gonna hurt.” She said. 

“Stop!” The bouncer yelled. I didn’t know if he was yelling at me or trying to stop the blood thirsty men behind me. I hoped it was the latter. 

I breathed deep and manifested what was behind the door. It was not the Funky Chicken. I was going somewhere else. I gripped something that was not only the door but all doors. It felt like cold molasses that burned. As we pushed through, I felt the people drop away behind me. Their yelling was siphoned away. My ears started ringing and the world screeched still and sped up again. My head pounded like a bass drum and things swirled around me. The smell of burnt meat swept over me, hitting me like a truck, I hoped it was not my brain smoking.