One Hundred and Twenty

The vinyl colour-changing dancefloor is filled with strangers with faces he can't really distinguish. He's had too many drinks to stay sober and remember anyone or anything anyways. The urge to run to the bathroom and throw up comes and goes -- that urge has been there for most of the night. The man ignores the urge and continues to dance on the dancefloor. The man jumps up and down, looking left and right as if he was constantly trying to see if anyone else is having a good of a time as he. The man tries to tell if he could recognize anyone but it's all a blur to him. Not one person looked familiar to him at all. Looking up the man sees disco lights. It went from red to yellow to blue to purple then back to red. The man never liked disco lights all too much -- tolerated it, but never liked it. The man stops dancing for a minute or two to acknowledge his surroundings. He notices the unsanitary amount of sweat that drips from his buttoned shirt. The man needed to go outside into the cold winter breeze. The dancefloor now seems constricted. He couldn't move a few inches from where he was standing. Everyone started to pile up against each other. He feels the sweat from other people rub up on his. The dancefloor can't seem to handle this many people. From what he could see, it seemed as if large groups are now trying to join in. He feels constricted, stuck in the vinyl colour-changing foul-smelling immensely heated terrible dancefloor. The man wants to leave the dancefloor but he can't. He moves left but people are there, he moves right and the same barrage of people stood in his way. No matter left right forwards or backwards he couldn't leave the dancefloor. A moment of confusion followed by a moment of nothingness. The man drops to the floor. Blood uncontrollably oozes from his head and his mouth. Screams erupt from the dancefloor and many turn to one as the man lays alone, dead.

He could feel the weight of the world on his shoulders; his heart beating faster each step he took. He was close now, one left turn in an estimated two-hundred and ten steps and he could see it. The nearly done to death beg buttons, streets that need to be thoroughly cleaned, run-down apartments, broken street pavements, unfashionable and deplorable street lights were to once again come into his sight and life. A state of anxiety and panic beleaguered his mind. Hesitant thoughts forced itself into Conroy's head. An ongoing battle between the feelings of doubt and bravery continued on as he walked ever so closer to the street. Everything around him was a slight blur and he couldn't focus on anything particular other than the surroundings that came into his personal aura. The thought of what he was about to do filled him with dread.

The battle has completely taken over his mind; starting from the moment he closed his apartment door to now. A moment of 'he should' followed by a moment of 'he shouldn't'. It was an endless loop that drained him.

Not too long now until he could see it. He looked to the ground and noticed that the path he walks on started to become less kempt than before. The pavement started to lose its colour and in place was dust. It's charcoal colour started turning greyer each step he took. Conroy looks up and sees fewer people than before. The numbers grew less and less until it was only him on the path. Many reached their destination and many turned a corner. A small gust of wind passes through him and he feels chilled. The once light snowfall started to weigh on him but he couldn't figure out if it was from the anxiety or genuine hard snowfall. He stops and looks up to the sky and sees he's standing underneath a streetlight. Staring at it for a few moments and he notices that it flickered every other second. His eyes started to strain the longer he looked at it. The snow seemed a little rougher than before. Hesitancy was in favour over bravery. He could walk back home, it wasn't far off. He could also walk to the city library, it was a block or two away from where he's standing. There was a green-coloured sign not too far from him. His eyes fixate on it. The sign was nothing special. It was just a normal green-coloured sign. Conroy's eyes stop fixating on it. He looks down and takes a deep breath before continuing on the path.

A few more steps before a descent into another life. The cold seemed to become unbearable to the shadows for the street seemed like a ghost town. Another gust of wind passes through him. He couldn't tell if it was colder than the last.

His cheeks reddened and eyes widened. An embarrassed, awkward smile comes to his face as he thinks about what he's about to do. He looks at the street and thinks about the man who approached him not even a day ago. He can't remember his name. Conroy tries hard to remember his face but it's a bit of a blur. The most he could remember is his black hair and black eyes. He went back to staring at the street right in front of him. He felt a sense of tranquility as he assumed that the only thing that existed on the street was him and the snow that continuously fell on him. He dared to take a step into the street itself. A moment of bravery followed by a moment of unease. He questions the difference of need and want. He remembers the exact spot they were conversing and eyeing him.

He takes another step. He takes his wallet out and counts the bills. It was enough. The longer he stood the more the snow weighed on him; he still couldn't decipher if it was the weather itself or his apprehension to the building a few meters away from him. He brushes the snow out of his overcoat. He's starting to get cold. He puts his hands in his pockets and yet stubbornly continues to stand, regardless of the inevitable cold that will likely happen should he stay outside. His mind thinks about the cold for a moment. Though frigid, he wasn't unnerved as his thoughts diverted from the impending task ahead of him. The distraction lasts only a minute or two as the sight of a man with short black hair comes out of the apartment followed by two women -- the first blonde, the second brunette. The embarrassment flies back to Conroy as the thought of the man and the two women spotting him might spark wrong assumptions. Swiftly, he moves towards a streetlight and stands where it would be hard to see him unless they squint. He sees the group converse and chat. He watches as the group talk; a couple of smiles, giggles and a clamorous laugh from the man. He couldn't hear them, but the unforeseen roar of laughter from the man made him believe they weren't talking business. He continues to stare at the people in front of him. From what he could barely hear, they were always laughing. The man swore like a sailor as he sat on the cold handle of the stairs leading to another guffaw. Conroy moves away from the streetlight a little, head tilting slightly as he continues to watch them from afar. The embarrassment that bewitched him the whole walk starts to wither away. The building wasn't as far as he thought it was. He continues to stand however, watching the group until they eventually enter the apartment once again. The cold started to become bothersome. He thinks for a few moments. He looks up to the streetlight and sees it flickering, but it wasn't as vexing as the other one. He looks to the ground and sees dirt that could easily be cleansed. The pavement wasn't as horrid as he assumed, the lights ahead of him were still out-of-place, but he found it a little fitting. The apartment didn't looks as run down either. A deep breath later and he walks towards the apartment; a tad of confidence and a tad of uncertainty still battles on.

A series of knocks, Conroy waits for a minute or two, one hand on the rail of the stairs. A part of him wants to walk the other direction, whilst the other is curious and determined. In an attempt to look as if he had more backbone, he stops slouching and stands straight, his chest puffed out and hands in his pocket. He can hear voices and footsteps from the other side of the door. Another few moments alone, the battle of cowardice or courage still ongoing, until the moment someone opened the door.

The man stands there for a few moments in silence before a smile on his face comes and he says "Oh well look who it is!" The face of the man is now imprinted onto Conroy's mind. The chiseled face with a sharp jawline and furry eyebrows complementing his short black hair and black, almost child-like eyes.

He senses an unruly assumption coming. "El owes me twenty now." The man says to himself as he looks up and down at Conroy. "How are you?" he asks, "It's been a few hours hasn't it umm…"

"Jean-Paul."

"Ah yes sorry. How could I forget such a pretentious name." he states in a pretend dumbfounded tone. Silence fills the air between the two before the man moves beside him. He puts a hand around his shoulder before he shifts and takes the wallet from the back of Conroy's pocket in a swift motion.

He panics a little as the man rifles through his wallet and starts counting the cash. Conroy hopes he doesn't do anything other than count his change.

"Huh. One hundred and twenty. Exactly." the man moves back to be in front of him. He looks back at the cash then looks at Conroy, one eyebrow raised.

"Well Jean-Paul," he starts. The sound of his name relives Conroy. "For an assumingly high-class person like yourself, you seem to have forgotten your tip." The man still eyes him up.

"I, didn't realise a tip was needed."

"Everyone knows you gotta tip for a good job." the man says nonchalantly.

"Well I didn't" Conroy says. The continuous eyeing up from the man put him on edge. He isn't too sure about what to do now. He doesn't know if he brought enough after all. The man stays silent for a minute, looking at the money and the now empty wallet.

"What do you plan to do?" Conroy knows the suggestions the man would give should he not give a straight answer.

"An interview."

"Huh? Interview? I've never heard that one before." the man finally stops eyeing him down and puts his hand on the rail. "I've heard of the pretzel dip, the waterfall, leap frog but never the interview." Conroy's face flushes. "What's the interview? Is it some weird BDSM thing because no one in this apartment is down for that." Conroy's cheeks reddened once again.

"It's not a sex thing."

The man tilts his head in confusion before asking "Wait you actually mean interview interview?" Conroy nods hastily. The man tilts his head a little in confusion.

"Well, okay?" The man says in a tone of slight disbelief. The man puts the money back in the wallet and hands it to him, seemingly baffled. Conroy takes the wallet and walks inside.

"What an odd man." he hears him say before he eventually follows Conroy inside.