Cold was the Night

A long time has passed since I first stepped on the door. Many nights, many men, many struggles. But one thing I still remember like it was yesterday – cold was the night when it all started.

It started as a prank. They wanted to know if I can really do it. They wanted to see whether or not I break down and beg to be let back in or whether I tough it out. I did the latter. And boy where they pissed! But to be frank. I was very close to the breaking point. But it was all the years of bullying and abuse that preceded that moment, that really made me tough it out. And am I glad I did. Little did they know, that from that night onward, the journey would begin that eventually will lead me to overcome my demons and strive towards greatness in the realm of “night economy.”

But the scars are still there. They will remain with me forever. And wherever I go or whatever I do, I will also remember each and every insult, tug, push and spit. They have become my inner armour. They have made me into who I am today. And they always remind me of my inner struggle. A kind of Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde realia, that has brought me on a brink of inner annihilation more times than one would like to keep score of.

By now, my inner armour is balanced by the exterior facade to match the darkness hidden inside. This facade has become my “calling card”. An ultimate reason for my “climb to success”. There are plenty of “pretty boys” in the business. But at the end of the day, just like Alien needs a Predator, the door needs at least one ugly mug to balance the shining exterior of glamour and intrigue. And that, ladies and gentleman, is where I come in.

While growing up, I never really understood, how being a close resemblance to the “lovechild” of Chewbacca and Yeti can benefit me in any way but by becoming an eligible candidate for a real life extreme manhunting. Who wouldn’t want to bag a prey like me. Oh baby! Bring it on and slap that body!

But it turns out, that with enough scars and a crooked nose to polish it off, you can become an equivalent of a “Miss Nightmare”. Downside of this arrangement is, that there are only two groups populating our planet, that kind of like me – dogs (and that is cool, because I don’t care about cats. But I do care whether or not dogs like me) and freaky middle-aged mammas who can’t wait to #metoo the shit out of this “bad boy”.

Trust me when I tell you. Human brain is able to forget or “black out” a lot of things. But sadly, being groped by female Jabba the Hutt is not one of them. But hey! It’s not like you didn’t want it right. Because men also think with their smaller heads instead of their brains, or so the story goes anyway. So if you try to bring up even the slightest reference towards the fact that actually you had anything but pleasant feelings they will laugh you out of the room.

Yous as there are the “shades of grey”, there are shades of the night. And there is way more than fifty, that much I can tell you. And the nights are still “cold”. Even when its supposedly warm outside. (Which in our neck of the woods is a rare honour if you know what I mean). Even if they are not cold due to the weather conditions, they still make you feel “cold” inside. Almost as if you were already dead, but somehow Charon was not in a rush to sail over and pick you up. And I doubt its due to my hunky looks or charming personality. It might have more to do with the fact, that Lucifer has yet to decide whether or not I will be eligible for a direct placement in the bowls of his kingdom, or will he send me up to the Pearly Gates first. Just so he could mess with St. Peter and his dad. And all of this just because payback is a bitch!

And since I returned to the topic of “cold”, I would like to attach a minuscule remark to the previously stated theses. Since apparently I do not function in the same paradigm of thinking as majority of Homo sapiens ravaging the planet for its resources, I always feel betwixt two polar opposites – whether to grin or growl – whenever somebody comes up to me on a winter night and asks me “aren’t you cold?” Thanks for the brain freeze dear sire! What do you think?! Of course not! Night hounds are never cold, we are always warm and cuddly. So step right up and see what happens!

But at least cold keeps you on your feet. It keeps you alert and ready. And it possibly even keeps the death away. Because I’m sure that Charon would prefer the role of the chaperone far better than the one of a “bodysnatcher”. Then again – dead men tell no tales. And he just might prefer silence to the chit-chat.

I guess I can ask him when we meet. Hopefully Lucifer will not have closed his jazz club by then and I will be able to kick back a few cold ones with the crew – Lemmy, Gorshok and Jean D’Arc. These will be the fun days. I’m sure of it. Or, well …. I’m almost sure of it. Because it might just happen that St.Peter decides to return the favour and let me in. Boy, would that be a buzz kill! But as they say – pessimist is merely a well-informed optimist. And if there is one thing I know for certain (in addition to drinking and knowing things in general), there is no way in Hell they will let me see the big man in person. Unless he will stay true to his reputation and decides to embrace the “sheep that got lost” and yet again stick it to his son running the party joint!