That still doesn’t change the fact that to me, it’s an emotional battle. A war raging inside my subconscious, and I haven’t the necessary weaponry to win the struggle. I dream of being victorious, but even in my sleep I know it’s just that. A dream. But that’s enough rambling, I should get to the point. Two years ago, I encountered someone at a very confusing point in my life. The truths that I had built myself upon came tumbling down. And I stood there in the debris of my scattered existence, utterly lost. Then he came from the wreckage, at first his presence was vague, and transparent among all I had lost. Yet, with time I realized he was the light that shone, guiding back to normalcy. I dare not speak his name, for names are power, and I can not proclaim dominance over this man. So for the time being we will refer to him as James. James was a freelance writer, published, recognized, with a magnificent mind. His intelligence was uncanny, it’s only competition being his gallant. From the wheels to the lights on the roof, nothing was safe. They could not afford to lose anymore cop cars so they just left the estate alone, which made the club an ideal place to meet up again.Hardly used now, the Curzon was a shabby old club. The main hall with its wooden stage and torn velvet curtains was closed off which left only one little bar remained open. With a few dodgy tables and chairs with folded beer mats under the legs, a futile attempt to keep them level, it stank like a public toilet. Dan had not been here for over a year but nothing had changed. The young mums with their alco pops were wailing on a little karaoke machine in the corner looking for someone, anyone, to buy them their next drink. The old boys, with their pint of bitter playing dominoes were in the usual spot near the window, concentrating as if it was the most serious challenge of their lives. There would have been more exciting atmosphere at a wake.Heading straight for the fruit machines he knew if.
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