Lamppost

 

Martin was standing by the black-painted door in the alley behind the nightclub. He bent over to light a cigarette covering the flame with his left hand. A lonely light above the door turned him into a shadow; black on black removed from the crowd. He turned his head and looked into the darkness beyond the backdoor. Slight movement and muffled sound travelled discreetly towards him. Somewhere in the shadows were his friend, Harry, and a short curvy brunette who currently was on her knees. Martin took another drag of his cigarette and glanced back towards the main street; groups of people going inside the club, standing outside smoking or moving towards the only grill in town in search of something salty to soak up the alcohol consumed a few moments prior. A shuffling behind him indicated that Harry had gotten what he wanted and moments later he stood beside Martin lighting a cigarette.

"Beer?"

"Sure. You don't wanna wait for her?"

"No. Why?"

"No reason. Come on. Let's go."

The lonely grill had never stopped its sale of six-packs. Not even when the owner of the nightclub had taken a baseball bat to the old neon sign out front. They were stacked in the back on the floor all the way to the ceiling, a weary looking old chair assisted in reaching the ones on top. The cans were warm, the beer warmer. At least it was cheap and soon they were outside in the cold again. It only took about five minutes of walking for the two friends to be entirely alone.

"Wanna go to my place?"

"Sure. I don't much care." Martin shrugged and looked straight ahead. Harry reached for another beer and in the same movement crumbled and tossed the empty can.

"Okay. My place it is then!"

 

Harry's place consisted of a small room which worked as bedroom, living room and storage space in one. From there two doors let to the kitchen and bathroom respectively. Harry threw himself on the bed with the remainder of the six-pack while Martin sat down on the floor reaching for a half full vodka bottle underneath a pile of clothes.

"Welp! Here's to more alcohol!"

"Cheers." Martin raised the bottle slightly before putting it to his lips, not really listening to what Harry had said. Harry guzzled down the beer and tossed the empty can against the wall. He fumbled a moment with the bed sheet, found the remote and turned on the TV. The default channel was some kind of low budget porn station, but he only lingered there for a moment before browsing through the other channels. Reruns of Bill O'Reilley, some WWE match, a nineties TV-show flashed by until he stopped at some sports channel showing the first Rocky-movie.

"Aw man... I fucking love this movie!" The last beer of the six-pack in his right hand the remote in the other turning up the volume.

"Yeah... Whatever..." Martin ran a hand through his black hair and took another mouthful of vodka, some of it spilling down his shirt. Halfway through the movie the bottle was empty and he looked under the bed to find an unopened bottle of Jack D among the condom wrappers, mouldy food containers and the lonely socks.

"Hey! Give me some of that will ya?" He expertly emptied half of the Jack D into the empty vodka bottle then handing it to Harry. Martin wasn't sure if he watched the last of the movie or if he passed out before that. All he knew was that he was craving salty food, aspirin and more booze when he woke up on Harry's floor at noon. He didn't bother waking up Harry right away; instead he went to the bathroom first splashing water in his face, under his armpits, putting toothpaste on his finger to use as an improvised toothbrush, before emptying his bladder. Harry was still far away in his sleep when he emerged from the dark bathroom; living in the basement did not allow for much sunlight, still, the rent was good. Martin grabbed him by the collar and shook him until he was no longer mumbling in confusion.

"Alright! Alright! I'm up... I'm up! Jesus man! What the fuck is your problem?"

"Hungry. Anymore Jack D left?"

"I don't fucking know... But yeah, me too. Burger and fries?"

"Yeah... Where's the fucking Jack D?"

"I don't know... Have you looked underneath the bed?" Harry fumbled with getting his denim jacket on and moved slowly towards the door. Martin felt his stomach contents moving dangerously up towards his mouth as he knelt down at the bed peering underneath it and finding the last of the Jack D back with its trashy friends.

"Are you coming or what?"

"Yeah..."

Outside a delicate breeze was playing with the fallen leaves and the cold sharpened their senses and made their hangovers even worse. Martin was walking slowly a few steps behind Harry with Jack in his right hand and a cigarette in his left. A few streets down Harry turned towards a hedge, unzipped his pants and parked the newly-lit cigarette in his mouth.

"Fuck it burns man! Hey! Do you think you could hurry up a bit huh? I'm gonna fucking starve to death before we get there." Martin shrugged and took another drag of his cigarette. He looked straight ahead without really seeing anything. That seemed to have happened a lot lately.

"Whatever! Just fucking hurry up, okay?" Another shrug and they continued towards the main street at the same pace as before. Another right turn and the busted neon sign got visible in the distance. The outside looked deserted with only the empty cans, puke and half-eaten food on the ground; all with courtesy from the lonely grill. Harry kicked a few of the cans at two elderly ladies walking by. They huddled together and picked up their pace afraid of the stinking man flipping the bird at them. Inside a few people were scattered among the old furniture trying to make it as decent seating. The air was warm and sticky, weaker constituents would have emptied their stomachs on the floor had they been in the same state as Harry and Martin. Fortunately they were made of sterner stuff. The scruffy looking owner muttered some intelligible words and handed them their food. At the table they poured the remaining Jack D into their soft drinks and guzzled them down before sinking their teeth into the burgers, grease running down their chins and staining their fingers.

"Needs more salt."

"Mm..."

Harry took off the top- bun of his burger and poured on more salt. A thin coat of white appeared before he was finally satisfied and continued eating.

"Your taste buds are messed up, you know that right?"

"Fuck my taste buds! I don't care! If I can't taste it going down, then I won't taste it when it comes back up again."

"Well... That's a plus I guess." Martin shrugged and took another bite out of his cheeseburger, knowing that he surely would taste it when it came back up.

"So what's the plan then?"

"Well. Ian probably wants his blow delivered today. That guy... You know... The one in the next town over, the one with the Ferrari? Yeah him. Well he's having some sort of big party tonight and Ian's most likely going to need us getting the blow there."

"Okay." Martin shrugged. "Guess that's the plan."

"Fine! I'll give Ian a call."

 

Ian lived three houses down from the old supermarket, a cellar-dweller just like Harry. The old supermarket greeted them as they reached Ian's. It looked worn down and oblivious to the fact that it was no longer 1980. The wind had picked up and Martin's hair kept flying into his eyes. He raised a hand pushing it back behind his ears, but to no use. Honestly he did not care much anyway.

Inside was dark and badly lit, black plastic bags covering the windows. But even in the shadowy room Martin could clearly see the cum-stains on the black bed sheets. Other than the bed the room was mostly bare: a low coffee table, a TV hanging on the wall and a pile of clothes in the corner. Standing before the table a thin coating of white dust could be seen, not surprising seeing how this was where Ian did most of his business. Two bags lay on the table waiting to be picked up.

“It’s a simple delivery like always”, Ian’s voice was raspy and his eyes watery, “you get 10% as usual and you can do a line each if you want to.” His hands were shaking as he lit a cigarette oblivious to the two already lit in the ashtray beside him.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harry grabbed the bags and weighed them in his hand; “I’ll drop by tomorrow with the money.” Ian mumbled some words to his cigarette, and as he casted a curious glance at the dealer Martin scrambled outside into the cold again.

 

Before they went back to Harry’s place a stop by the supermarket was required seeing how Harry was running low on both cigarettes and booze. Martin waited outside numbingly smoking the last of his cigarette. Looking around the feeling of being stuck in a deep hole without means of escape weighed even heavier on his shoulders. Harry must feel it too he thought, but at least Harry could still distract himself. Well, most of the time at least. He threw the last of his cigarette out on the street and looked over his shoulder, behind was the old lamppost. It did not work and the city did not seem to prioritise fixing it. But the eerie thing about it was the sound it produced on windy days, a sound which Martin could clearly hear now standing near it. It was not one but two distinct noises that could be detected; a sort of hollow whistle dancing around in the lower register, as well as a higher pitched beep not unlike the sound an old computer would make. An 80's sort of sound, very fitting considering the old supermarket had had its heyday probably in 1982.

“Hey! Come back to earth!” Martin turned around just in time to dodge the empty beer can Harry threw at him; the bastard had always been a fast drinker. “Seriously, my nuts are about to freeze off! So do you want beer or vodka to walk on?”

“I’ll take the vodka”, Martin looked at the bottle for a moment before opening it; it was some cheap brand and he felt his stomach turning at the acid like taste. “I guess you’re on a budget today?” He did not get an answer so he turned to find Harry staring at the lamppost.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“I don’t… that sound man…” Harry grimaced and forcefully turned his head towards the street. “That fucking sound’s messing with my hangover!” He angrily opened another can of beer and spilled half its contents on himself in the process. “Fuck the cold! Let’s go back to my place.”

“Okay” Martin glanced over his shoulder to look at the lonely lamp as they walked away; Harry stomping irritated on far ahead.

 

Hours later it had become dark and they where driving to the neighbouring town in an old Ford. Martin was not sure about the model, but like everything else in the town it seemed to have had its heyday some time in the 80’s. Harry had fumbled with the lock and the wires for several minutes before they were finally able to make the delivery. Martin still had the vodka bottle in his hands and beside him, at the wheel, Harry was tuning in on some obscure EBM station, while simultaneously taking a line from one of the bags. Martin had lost count of how many times his nose had inhaled the lovely distraction and noted that they were currently going 30 over the speed limit.

“Sure you don’t want some?”

Another mouthful of cheap vodka.

“Suit yourself”, Harry took another nosedive into the bag and then finally turned his attention towards the road. “So what do you wanna do when we get back?”

“You’re not planning on staying?”

“Nah, those rich guys always look down on the common people, you know? I’d rather stay somewhere I’m welcome.”

“Whatever.”

“So what you wanna do?”

“Don’t know. I guess we’ll see when we get back.”

 

It was not difficult to locate the buyer, like Harry had said, he owned a Ferrari, and said car was parked on the front lawn in such a manner that everyone would see it. But even so; the large house, the loud music and the people having sex half hidden in the bushes were also good indicators that this was their destination.

“Fuck! That’s an awesome car man!” Harry, clearly impressed, stepped closer to the red monstrosity. “Fuck! I need one of these!”

“Mmhm”, Martin could not see what was so special about it. “It’s just a car. Com’on! We have blow to sell.”

“Yeah… sure, sure.”

Inside was a crammed chaos and moving, whether backwards or forwards, soon became entirely impossible, so Harry took to the tactic of yelling; then, shortly after that, screaming at the top of his lungs. A guy over six feet tall approached them, slowly because the sea of writhing bodies hardly moved aside for him. When he was within arms length he reached out and grabbed Harry by the collar.

“Be right back!” 10 minutes passed before Martin finally decided to move. He felt catatonic in the crowd and with no alcohol in sight he had no reason to move. In the end he decided to go outside; at least he could watch a lot of people having sex. Not as good as a mountain of coke or buckets of alcohol, but it was something.

As he watched a couple going at it up against the wall he thought about the last time he had sex. He could not remember.

“Hey Sucker!” He looked over his shoulder; Harry was approaching him cash in one hand and an expensive looking bottle of whiskey in the other.

“Let’s get outta here shall we?”

“Yeah… damn I wish I’d had some of that coke now!”

“Buy an eight ball when we get back to town.”

“Yeah whatever. You’re driving!”

“If you insist!”

 

Whatever little buzz he had had it was completely gone by the time they came back to town. Harry parked the car near the grill and looked at him.

“Sure you don’t wanna come with me?”

“Yeah, I’m done for today.”

“Your loss then. Well, I’ll find myself some easy girl. See ya!” He turned and walked towards the bar. Martin watched him for a while before lighting a cigarette and heading back to the basement. The wind had picked up and his hair kept getting into his eyes. Today has been non-existing he thought, today I did not even exist. The thought of an eight ball seemed pretty good now, but at the same time it was just too much effort getting it. He took a sip of the whiskey; the taste a million times better than the cheap vodka. Maybe that would be enough for tonight? Or maybe a merciful sleep would be better?

He did not bother getting into the bed when he finally reached the basement; the floor suited him just fine. He turned on the TV and fell asleep with porn on the screen, the whiskey bottle in one hand and the other holding a beer can. His dreams were a mess of people fucking, gathering coke from treasure chests and total darkness. He was awoken by Harry holding him by the shoulders, shaking him.

“Mmm… what? What is it?”

“I found this girl alright! Totally easy, but she wanted to pick up some cigarettes at the supermarket. Menthols you know, that’s what she smokes.”

“What the… Harry! What the fuck are you talking about?”

“The cigarettes man! She wanted to pick up cigarettes at the supermarket!” His hands were shaking badly as he lit a cigarette, eyes all over the place failing to focus on anything in particular.

“You had too much coke man! Could you even get it up?”

“What? I don’t know. She wanted to buy those cigarettes, but the sound man… the sound!”

“What sound?”

“The fucking lamppost!”

“Get some sleep Harry. You make no sense man.” Martin turned away and closed his eyes, but sleep did not last long. When he woke up a few hours later Harry was sitting beside him eyes on the TV, but not seeing what was on the screen.

“Harry? You okay?”

“The lamppost Martin, can’t you hear it?”

“Hear what?”

“The lamppost. It’s like it wants me… like it wants me to fuck it or something.”

“I think you’re having a bad trip. Get some sleep!”

“No I… I have to go and talk to it. I have to find out what it wants.”

“Whatever! Just don’t start humping it okay?”

Harry did not answer as he got up and left, and Martin did not hear the door close behind him. Not that he cared much anyway, he was too drunk still to feel the cold and as for intruders: an open door or an unlocked door made no difference.

 

That night was the last time Martin saw Harry. He reported him missing the following day and the police stopped looking for him the day after that. No one but Martin cared about him and they had more important things to do, like making sure the prostitutes did not spill the beans on the police chief. He often went by the supermarket, looking at the lamppost and drinking cheap vodka. But it took three years of drinking, dealing coke and living in the basement before he also heard it. The curious sound the wind created when blowing by the old lamppost filled his head as he lay on the floor in the darkness. It took over his mind and without thought or worry he got up and left the basement, leaving the door open behind him.