Date = 30 June
Four more days of anxious nothingness.
Place = San Francisco (Inferno)
Working at the club.
POV - Enrique
Quiet.
The club is too quiet.
I hate quiet. Not the kind that blankets you at three a.m. when the world sleeps. That kind I can live with.
This is the other kind — the kind that smells like dread and tastes like waiting.
And tonight the club has the kind of quiet that makes you suspicious. Like maybe the universe is holding its breath before throwing something weird at you.
I am behind the bar, chopping lemons and regretting my life choices.
And I’m anxiously waiting for the BOMB to explode. And not just literally … I mean in every possible sense. Figuratively, theoretically, technically, hypothetically, visually, philosophically, metaphorically.
Because Jack
