The Cool Kids

The streets of New Chicago were crowded with people like always. Tony looked toward the run down club he always went to for a few drinks to reminisce about the old days. The neon lit sign flickered with the words ‘Cool Kids’ blazed across the sign. He dragged his feet across the garbage filled street as beggars reached out for money from the typical late night crowd that hung out in the shady parts of the labyrinthine megacity. He sighed and tossed a few cred’ chips at them and went inside the club as the loud Sirens rushed by.

The flashing lights and booming music did nothing but remind him of his youth when he wore a nicely fitted leather jacket and large aviator shades and hung out with his crew — back when the days were simple. His weary eyes saw the silhouette of a man cleaning glasses with a dirty rag with a distinct scowl across his face that flashed among the near-blinding lights and knew exactly who was on shift tonight — Barry was recognizable anywhere, the hardened bastard typically liked taking odd jobs. From being a bookie, information broker, to odd things like what the old man would call ‘clean up duty’ with a sly wink. Sometimes even actual legitimate janitorial work wouldn’t be something strange to see him do. Tonight, the man was a bartender.

Barry glanced at Tony’s disheveled appearance and grunted, “The usual?”

“Nope, tonight’s a long night.” Tony said as he slumped on the rickety stool, finger lazily tracing the fake wood grain of the ancient bar. “Get me four shots of vodka. I lost my damn job for the fifth time.”

Barry made a sad chuckle as he put down the greasy rag. He gestured in a grandiose fashion towards the other patrons deep in their drinks and told him, “Join the club.”