My weightless body rests comfortably on velvet covered seats as my car pulls over smoothly; with friction calibrated to perfection like my hand does when sliding over a naked woman’s body. I step out onto the wet dark street; staring at the dimly lit door across the walk. My car doors auto lock with an almost inaudible ‘blip’ sound as I walk away; my fur collared leather jacket flailing in the crisp cold winter breeze, I hold myself together. As I walk over to the magic door, something triggers inside me and my crafty hands slide into my pockets and with merely a moments pause, emerges a small box and my lips quickly grab the soft padded end of what looks like a long stiff paper roll and slide it out, from inside the box. My skilled hands stylize an oil lighter into producing a mellow yellow flame with a blue core and it kisses the tip of the paper roll, igniting it into a controlled red cinder. My lips firmly wrapped around the soft end, my lungs expand making space for the airy elixir slithering like a snake down my throat. My left fore finger and my left thumb carefully yet with practiced ease catch hold of the white paper roll in about three seconds and separate it from my lips and I pour out a stream of thick white smoke; the smoke diffusing into thin air within fractional seconds.
I hold my cigarette with style and hold out my wrist for a stamp and walk through the magic door. My ears welcome a blaring ‘Desert rose’ by Sting and my eyes find the kaleidoscopically lit space as something taken over by the music in his husky voice. The girls dressed in almost nothing move with sharp writhing movements while the boys pretend to enjoy the dance and make clumsy unattractive moves around them. The smoke from my mouth seems to envelope me and I feel warm all over. My lips part in a manic smile and I swallow the whiskey straight up. Rush; a small cringe and my eyes open again before I take another deep satisfying drag on the half burnt death; seems as if it were almost stitched about my lips. Another ‘Jim Beam’ follows and my cigarette is down to its last breath and I kill it soon after by snubbing it gently in a thick aristocratic glass ashtray. I reach for another one and even before I light it, another hand; probably as skilled as mine pushes its way towards my lips and puts the tip of my cigarette to a flame. She blows out the lighter provocatively with sweet smelling air from her red lipstick lined lips. Her eyes – blue crystals, her body – desire in its fullest form, her skin – golden, like pearls in champagne and her hand – held a cigarette. She took my ‘Jim Beam’; poured out a coil of thick smoke into my glass from her scarlet lips and passed it over to me again. I drank straight up.
My eyes examined her bare backed body and something tells me she enjoyed my sharp animalistic and rude gaze. I moved closer to her and whispered in her ear deliberately making sure that the warmth of my breath tickles her ear, “I am Khalil…” she laughed deliriously; her voice – deep and throaty, and looked straight at me with a flirtatious smile and said, “I know who you are, I have known you for years…” I realized, she was swimming in a sea of sweet intoxication. She grabbed my sleeve and said, “Come home with me, I’ll kill you tonight… (Broke out into a soft but delirious giggle and rested her head on my right shoulder). My fingertips caressed her naked back and I pushed her away from me gently; her fists clenched around the lapels of my jacket. I pulled her apart me and she collapsed onto the bar, still smiling. Her eyes gestured to my fingers and I placed a cigarette in between her lips and lit it before turning around and walking away. Before walking away from her, I pushed her hair aside and whispered into her ear, “I prefer my smoke…”
24th October, 2010