MY ZEGNA SHOES. MY NEW CHARCOAL VARVATOS SUIT. MY TIE.
No.
No tie.
A McQ T-shirt with an X-ray of a skull on it. Not my style, but I feel murderous. And this is as close as I can get to clubwear. I’m going to a place where all the women try to be Nines – they all have shiny hair and tanned, bouncy breasts. Inside, it will be neon blue or red-and-black, slick. There will be bar stools like stems, and perfect asses sitting on top like flowers. There will be long fingers holding olives on a pick. A curl of yellow garnish swimming in vodka. And fast, brutal club music like a speeding train. Like a train crash.
I open the safe behind my Keep Calm and Carry On poster. I pull out a small sandwich bag. I got it when I started dating Gloria. For guests.
No guests now. I don’t care for drugs. B
