The dancefloor is nothing if not a place where bodies collide and shuffle around as it tries to imitate given music. The only people that want to go to the vinyl colour- changing dancefloor are the ones too drunk to care about all of the dancefloor's inherent problems. The dancefloor is crowded, barely anyone could move a few inches from where they're standing. The lights above continue to rapidly change colour. Red to yellow to blue to purple then back to red. Drops of sweat fall to the floor to the point that it's disgusting to even look at. From a drop of sweat to the sudden drop of a man. A couple of murmurs start around the man, but before anyone could ask, blood oozes out from his head and his mouth. The screams of bloody murder deafens the music and people run frantic. The dancefloor is now covered in blood; it's nearly covered everything from corner to corner. A few faint steps come to the dancefloor -- a shadow looking down upon the dead man. It scoffs. Scene close.
Conroy looks at the thirteen lines written on the document and looks in displeasure. He doesn't erase the lines, but is considering it. He looks to the clock and sees it's twenty-three minutes past twelve. His head turns back to the thirteen lines where it stays there idle as his mind drifts off. He didn't want to cook nor did he want to just order from the small restaurant downstairs he's always ordered at. He contemplates for a few moments before deciding. He closes his laptop and stands to go to his bedroom. He picks up a white sweater and black overcoat before picking up the keys to his apartment and phone at his desk. He walks out the door and before closing it, takes a look at his laptop one last time. He desperately needed to start working. Marv gave him extra time and he needs to write something. He hesitates for a few moments to think if he should just make instant noodles and try to work. He looks down to his feet and back to the laptop. In the corner of his right eye, he sees his window; outside seemed nice and bright. His mind was made up. He closes the door.
He hails a taxi and asks to go to a place called Compitalis. He's been there before, a few weeks to a month ago. He looks at his phone and estimates that he could be back at the apartment no later than one. It wasn't a far off restaurant -- he could have walked and it would take about twenty minutes or so he predicts. Conroy thinks about his day and what he could do. He reckons that he could be back early and work until dinner. He then plans to have dinner from the restaurant downstairs then come back to continue working. He hasn't had a full day's work since Wunderkind was being worked on. He thinks back on his new book. A few ideas float around his head but he considers none to be good enough. All he has is the "dancefloor scene" as an opening to his book. It's the only idea that stuck with him for he believes it to be enthralling enough to resonate some sort of feelings and intrigue. Conroy's stuck to that scene since he pitched the novel but never figured out how to write it properly. All he knows is that the scene is a pivotal start to the book. Conroy shuffles to the window and looks around. The lights above and beside along the streets were barely noticeable but it still shone with grandeur. He sees office buildings, a small shopping centre and the occasional odd out-of-place nightclub. The snow falling made the city look gorgeous as he sees the colour palette of green and red splattered around from people's clothes to Christmas lights and signs. The city was full of life and it felt like it came across everywhere. A minute or two later and the taxi stops. Conroy pays the fare and steps outside, the chill being a slight surprise. He looks up to see a black and white sign saying 'Compitalis' written in an italic font. The podium for the restaurant server has been moved inside and so have the chairs. He sees the inside of the restaurant to be nearly full. He takes one last look at his phone to check the time before coming in.
The food was delectable as always. It was ten to one and Conroy was standing outside the restaurant, waiting for a taxi to call upon. The taxis were scarce and Conroy didn't seem like waiting any longer. He looks to the sky and sees snow was barely falling. He looks at his phone and assesses his possibilities. He didn't want to wait any longer. He looks to his left and right and sees people waiting for taxis as well, some walking off in the end. He could be back at the apartment by ten past one should he not wait for a taxi and opt to walk himself home instead. He thinks there wouldn't be much of a difference in time between walking and waiting for a taxi that may never come. He knows that many drivers are having their lunches right now too. He walks off.
The walk gave him more time to think about what to write. The dancefloor scene comes back to his mind. The situation his character is put in is one Conroy doesn't know much about. A life of partying, drinking until blacked out, hooking up is one that he's never delved into. Apart from the odd movie and web browse, he didn't know much about that kind of nihilistic and care-free life. He's researched it but he feels as if it's shallow and one dimensional. He isn't even sure if what he's found is accurate. If he were to write a character like that he'd have to do more intensive research that's not first page searches and movies. The dancefloor scene is something that may not even be realistic at all. Thirteen lines -- each line, each word unconvincing to him. A sense of frustration rises up a little as Conroy thinks about what to do. He puts his hands in his pocket and puffs his cheeks before looking up at the upcoming traffic light. He stops abruptly.
He approaches the traffic light. It's beg button was dented, likely broken. In front of him was a dirty street; it looks like it seldom gets the care and cleaning that it needs. Apartment buildings seem to only have passed the building inspection by a scrape. There were chipped away granite street pavements and tacky lights around. Conroy looks around him and doesn't see any other pedestrian with him. He opened his phone and opened his GPS. He locates his apartment building and finds that he has to walk through this horrible street in order to get there. The traffic light turned green and Conroy slowly moved to cross. Once in the horrid street, he sees people slowly come out from the apartment buildings. Some smoking, some just deciding to sit outside -- all however had one thing in common; all stared at Conroy. It was eerie. Conroy felt all eyes on him. Some scoffed at him and came back inside and some just continued to stare as if he was out of place. There was a specific group on his left. One man and two women. They all whispered to each other while staring directly at him. It made Conroy walk a little faster as he passed them. He can hear them, but couldn't work out what they were saying. Just as Conroy walked a few meters away from them he hears footsteps coming from right behind him. "Hey you!" he can hear from behind him. He freezes up. He doesn't know if he should stop or if he should run. He doesn't even know if he should turn back or continue to look forward. "Overcoat." the man says. He's clearly trying to catch his attention. Before Conroy could take another step forward, the footsteps die down and the man's right behind him.
"Hey you lost buddy?" Conroy hesitantly turns back. A man; he's a few inches taller than him. He has a chiseled face with black eyes and short black hair. His coat seemed tight and his pants tighter.
"Oh um no. I just need to go this way."
"Huh." the man crossed his arms, "not a lot of peds go 'round here. Usually they take the one by the twenty-third". the man clearly doesn't believe Conroy's truth.
"I didn't know twenty-third had a way."
"Huh." the man says again. "You new around here?" The man lifts his head up and looks down to Conroy, one eyebrow raised. Conroy doesn't know how to assess the situation. He isn't sure as to why a man runs to another man only to ask if he's lost or new to the place.
"Y-Yes. Been here for only a few months."
The man takes a few seconds before nodding to himself. Conroy shifts his eyes left and right quickly to see a few people from the alleyways carefully watching him.
The man looks up and down at Conroy. "Pig?" he asks in a somewhat stern voice.
"No. Not at all." Conroy starts to pad himself in various places to show he doesn't have any weapon of any kind. He hopes that will make the man leave him alone. The man once again looks up and down at him. "Mhm. Ok. I believe you." the man says as he leans on a streetlight. The two stare at each other for a few moments, both staying quiet; Conroy wishes he'd be allowed to walk home now.
"Where'd you come from?"
"Oh just a few blocks ahead. Compitalis." Conroy points behind the man to signal where his path has been. The man turns his head for a brief second. Conroy wants to leave but is worried that the man may not like his sudden disappearance from their chat.
"Compitalis, pretty good place. Expensive too."
Conroy tenses up. He places his hand on his back pocket to check if his wallet still stayed with him. He didn't know what to do. He shifts his eyes to his left and to his right once again and can still see people watching the two. There seemed to be no help in sight. Conroy looks up and down at the man. One hand was in his back pocket and the other holding a cigarette Conroy didn't even notice was there. He directly stares at the man in front of him.
"You came alone?" the man asks. Conroy notes his tone to not be stern and threatening, but rather curious and a tad intrusive. Conroy felt as if he swallowed rocks as he stammered a "Y-Yeah" as a response. The man nods his head a little bit.
"Well then. What's your name?"
"Jean-Paul." Conroy's never had that quick of wit. The name 'Jean-Paul' Came to him rather swiftly. He wonders how he got the oddly peculiar name.
"I wouldn't be surprised if your last name isn't George-Ringo". Conroy was slightly taken aback with the man's sudden joke. The man had a little chuckle and Conroy, terrified if he didn't, smiled awkwardly a little too.
"Well then Jean-Paul," the man starts to say, "you came to Compitalis, assumingly alone. Now I'm going to guess you're going home alone too," the man's tone sounds as if he's trying to persuade him. "And at your house, apartment, frankly whatever, there's no one waiting for you". The man smoothly slides himself to be beside Conroy where he puts an arm around him. "How about, instead of going home all alone," the man's face is uncomfortably close to Conroy's. "You can stay here a little bit and have some action. Hm?" the man points towards the two women standing by a seemingly old apartment. Conroy's eyes open wide and his cheeks redden a little. He realises who this man is now and why he's here.
"You're lucky I'm not a cop." Conroy's flustered state can't make him think of any response other than a self-aware joke. He moves away from the man and feels his cheek. The man chuckles a little bit.
"Are you kidding me? Look at you. You're too scrawny to be a cop man. A little embarrassed too by the looks of it." the man says as he eyes Conroy down.
"Alright. I'm guessing you've never been to a place like this am I right?" Conroy nods a little. He so desperately wants to leave now. "Well, girl on the left -- forty bucks in and out, a hundred for an hour and two hundred for the whole day." Conroy's left speechless. "Girl on the right -- her rates are a little higher. Feedback says she's done better jobs. Fifty bucks in and out, hundred and twenty for an hour and two fifty for the whole day". Conroy remains silent for a minute, his head still down in discomfort. The man stays with him for a few moments in silence too before speaking up once again.
"Okay. Well. It's clear now to me that you're very new to this."
"You think?" Conroy speaks up a little in sarcasm. The man puts his arms up in defense. "Calm down. Most people that come 'round here are always lookin' for some action," he states openly. "Been a while since I saw one of yous strutting around here without any intent". Conroy finally looks up and to the two women. The left woman is a brunette in a brown puffy jacket while the right woman is a blonde woman with about three layers of sweaters on. Conroy notes that it isn't necessarily what he had in mind when he pictured shadows like that. "Still though, eyeing them up like that makes me think otherwise." Conroy looks back at the man in shock.
"Fine. Go on your way then."
Before Conroy could walk past the man, he steps right in front of him once again. "Still," he starts, "if you're ever looking for some night life fun, come back here any time. We're open all day everyday." The man steps out of his way. Conroy silently nods at the man and hastily walks off. He turns back to see the man conversing with the two women, all three still looking at him. He looks around and sees the shadows have now gone back to their own lives. He gets to a crossing and looks up to the street sign.
Kierkegaard street.