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Detroit Business District
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| Dirty D's Drug Den | Started by: Mercedes_Kompressor on Oct 02, '16 03:29 |
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You part the heavy velvet curtain and enter the drug lounge as various odors, chemical and otherwise, accost your nasal passages. The entire room is dark and the only illumination comes from a few low lamps scattered around on end tables, their shades covered with heavy linens that infuse a dim, red-colored light around the room, upon the paraphernalia on the tables, and on the people themselves. Some of the objects you've seen and used before, others were new, even to you. The inhabitants of the lounge are varied...a man in a sensible, off-the-rack business suit is at the bar using a Benzadrine inhaler like a kid having an asthma attack. The bartender is watching him warily. On one of several velvet couches sits a couple. His tie is loosened and her heels have been kicked off so that her feet can rest in the man's lap as they share a joint. They are staring, transfixed, as a large, menacing-looking man in an overcoat leans down and snorts the longest line of coke you've ever seen off the spine of a naked woman lying face-down on a large coffee table. As he rises up, he reaches down for her hand and they go through a doorway in the back wall that you couldn't even see before. Clearly the woman was an employee here. Or maybe this place was just incredibly accomodating to couples, who the fuck knew these days? On the other side of the room from the bar, two young women are tracing circles on the velvet walls and chattering nonsense. You're guessing LSD as you sit down in an empty spot on the floor and wait for your turn on a very large, beautifully decorated hookah pipe. Just as you're about to pacify your personal opium demon, the inhaler guy at the bar starts screaming obscenities at no one in particular. With no one to aim his drug rage at, he decides the bartender would be a good target and launches himself across the bar. Relatively used to this sort of behavior, the bartender is ready: he's pulled a Louisville Slugger out of nowhere and taps the fool on the side of the head. You can hear him hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. You look around the room and see that no one has moved or reacted in any way. Even the bartender is back to polishing his whisky glasses. Did that shit even just happen? You decide to join in or, suddenly no longer in the mood, you decide the den isn't where you want to be. You stand up and leave, heading to: |
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| Reply by: Sarah at Oct 02, '16 12:39 | |
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