Strangers In The Night
Here I am, jobless, penniless, drunk, struggling with a blank page in a strange city in a country that is not my own. A bottle of Jack Daniel’s by my side, cigarette taste in my mouth and all the coke is gone. Fuck it, I’m going out.
The night is receptive, not as cold as the average Cork night. I walk through St. Patrick’s Street heading to a pub. I wish I could go to somewhere quieter, but I’m afraid of what I’m capable of when there are not a lot of people around.
The city centre is pleasantly empty. I find a small pub and sit by the counter. I used to think that people sitting alone by the counter were all lonely cunts with miserable lives, feeling sorry for themselves. Now I’m sure.
“You alright, mate?” Says the bartender as I sit down and take off my jacket.
“Grand.” I say sarcastically. “Jack, please, no ice.”
“Rough night?” He asks me pouring the whiskey in the glass.
“Rough life.” I say with a weak smile and pay the bloke. “Keep it coming, will ya?”
I look around and all I can see is groups of young people like myself, having the time of their lives, most of them are tourists on holidays, no worries at all.
Cork has so many different people that is almost impossible to go out alone at night without meeting anyone interesting, even outside the pubs.
People approach you on the streets just to get to know you, to hear your stories, to have a new mate. Even if you never talk to that person again, five minutes with them creates an incredible connection.
It’s beautiful and sad at the same time.
A girl sits by my side on the counter and starts looking at me. Before I could make any sound, she starts talking.
“Either you love yourself so much that you don’t think anyone deserves to spend time with you or you loath yourself so much that you don’t think anyone deserves to waste time with your fucked up shit. Which one?”
“Second one, I reckon.” I say as she orders her own whiskey. “Why?”
“In this case, I’ll be drinking here with you, either you like it or not.”
“You’re not a hooker, are you?”
“No, but thank you for thinking that people should pay to fuck me.”
Of course I think people should pay to fuck her, she’s absolutely gorgeous, not like most Irish girls with their fake tan, standard hairstyle, bad teeth and dresses short enough to allow you to see their uterus. People should pay a fucking fortune. She’s naturally redhead, with green eyes and red lipstick that contrasts with her white skin, white like a canvas. And that canvas should only be used by master painters. Not me.
“So why are you willing to drink with a hopeless fucked up cunt that could be a rapist or some nonce?” I ask.
“Perhaps I’m hopeless as well. Perhaps I just like lonely people. Perhaps I just think you’re cute.” She answers. Her voice is soft like her skin must be. “Let’s go outside, I could really use a smoke.”
Outside is colder than it was before. Weather in Ireland is a fucking rollercoaster. I light our cigarettes and let the smoke dance in the chilli Irish night, among other drunk people and junkies looking for a fight.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“No names, please.” She says smiling.
“We are both grown-ups with some time in this planet, we know a shitload of people, a shitload of different names. If you say your name is Sean, for example, it’ll remind me of some Sean and it may not be a good memory. The same goes for me, if I say my name is Aoife, and I’m not saying that it is, it may bring you back some bad memories of some Aoife.”
“You had a lot of time to think this through, hadn’t ya?” I say getting a little closer to her.
“I sure did.” She says laughing. “What do you do?”
“I’m a cliché and you?”
“Wait! Slow down, boy. What kind of cliché?”
“The drunk, junkie writer with a self-destructive lifestyle and no real job nor real money.”
“Lucky for you, Mr Writer, I’m a drunk and wee bit junkie myself. Why don’t we go to my place where there’s free booze and free drugs, get fucked up, fuck our brains out and you leave tomorrow like it never happened?”
“Jaysus, you just read my mind.” I say. I honestly don’t know if I’m more interested in the drugs or in the sex. Either way, I don’t see what can go wrong at this point.
Her flat is not far from the town. Actually, it is just a few blocks away from the pub where we met. Her flatmates are away on holidays, so we have the whole apartment for ourselves. She has a huge stock of cocaine and MDMA. Considering her job as a drug dealer, I shouldn’t be impressed by it, but I am anyway.
“Make yourself at home.” She says going to her bedroom.
I light a cigarette and take a look at her records, there are really good stuff there, I put Rolling Stones’ Exile On Main St on. She comes back and fixes us a whiskey.
“Nice choice of music.” She says.
“So, which one do you want to take; Cocaine or MDMA?” I ask.
“The right question, Mr Writer, is which do I want to take first?”
We smile and I start to line some cocaine on a mirror that was resting on the table. I snort first and, Jesus, that is invigorating. The coke goes into my nose heading to my veins and my brain. If I was minimally tired, I’m not anymore. I stand up and start walking around the living room.
“Are you OK?” She asks after snorting her share.
“I’m absolutely perfect.” I say. I really am perfect, I’m not “not too bad” as the Irish use to say, I’m GRAND! That’s exactly what I needed this night.
“Up to some ecstasy?” She asks wrapping her arms around my neck.
I’ve never used cocaine and MDMA at the same time, I don’t know what could happen, but, as much as it sounds like a bad idea, it’s also a great one.
“YES!” I shout.
She smiles and kisses me for the first time. Our mouths are dry as a desert due to the purity of that white powder lying on the mirror, but it doesn’t matter. In her kiss she passes me the pill and I swallow it.
What I feel now is almost indescribable. I feel the music penetrating my skin, I feel the euphoria taking control of my body, I feel my dick getting hard and our hands are exploring each other’s bodies. Why can’t we mix drugs and sex, right?
She goes up and down on my cock, her boobs are shaking in my hands and her moan is getting louder and louder.
“Are you going to cum?” She screams.
“Soon.” I say. I hate talking and fucking.
“Cum with me!”
I do. We cum together. I finally get tired again.
“The sun is rising.” She says lying by my side. Fuck, we shagged the whole night, probably because Ecstasy makes you hard and coke makes you soft, it’s a funny mix. “You should go.”
Another one before I leave?” I ask.
“Sure.” She says lining my last bit of cocaine. It’s wonderful how she knows exactly what I’m talking about.
I snort my last line and walk out her building with her number in my pocket and her real name in my head. As a fellow writer once told me, Ireland is the right place to be if you want a good story.