Eye of the Storm

This is not the end

He turned the wheel in his car, going down yet another unfamiliar street. He hadn't been in the city long, and in all honesty, he had not yet decided what he thought of it. For one thing, he did not appreciate the traffic. Not that he was in a hurry to get anywhere---he in fact, had no destination---but sitting behind lines of cars was not the most enjoyable activity.

It was late, and if only he weren't in the middle of Los Angeles, it would be dark as hell and vacant. However, he was in the city of angels which meant there were street lamps and lit-up shops illuminating the streets, and still many people bustling about at close-to-midnight.

Turning the dial for the heater, he was yet again reminded of how crappy his car was when not even a bit of warmth out of the vents. It may have been southern California, but it was still closing in on winter, and the poor man felt the chilly air settling in his old vehicle.

After all, he was from Arizona; he was used to the heat, and a tad wimpy when it came to the cold. His life-long dream was to be in a band, and at twenty-seven he still hadn't given up on it. Back in Tempe, he worked at a fast food restaurant and co-owned a tattoo shop with his high school friend. It did well, and he was able to support himself and his wife, but he still didn't want to let go of music. So when they talked about opening a shop in LA, he immediately offered to go start it up. He knew that if he wanted a chance to be in a band, that was the place to be. Like many souls, with a heart full of hopes and dreams, he got a one-way ticket to the city of angels.

Nothing really changed between Arizona and California. Now he lived in a decent to poor apartment with his wife, and worked at a drugstore to pay the rent. The space in which Club Tattoo was going to be still had to be renovated, and until then, he just had to work on getting employees, interviewing tattoo artists and ordering the supplies they would need. Still, despite the fact he would sing his heart out and try harder than anyone, nothing was going well for him in the music department. When he had time to even think about trying to push a career, all he could find were open mic nights at small clubs where hardly anyone cared.

He had just come from one where the crowd was uninterested and too drunk to even pay attention. Going home wasn't his first choice, so he just drove. He drove for hours, wasting gas and exploring the city that was his new home. He didn't want to go sit in his apartment all night and think about his failures. He didn't want to be alone, but he also didn't want to go home where his wife would complain and curse him for whatever it was he did or didn't do. Things between them were deteriorating since before the move. She was no longer satisfied with him and made it known that he didn't live up to her standards. Somewhere along the way, they fell out of love, but neither of them had decided to end the relationship.

Rubbing his hands for warmth, he pulled out of the central part of the city and headed towards the outskirts of town. Unintentionally he turned into an area lit up only by dim streetlights and blinking fluorescent signs in smoky windows. Shops and buildings looked less pristine and sparkling, more dirty and run-down. Shadowy figures were hunched in dark alleyways, and anyone on the sidewalk looked scrawny and underfed or like an ex-convict. He hardly noticed the dank atmosphere and dark streets hiding people that would scare anyone normal, as he parked the car along the curb, only thinking about going indoors somewhere warm. There was a bar just down the way that looked perfect.

The man stepped out onto the wet pavement and into the cold, damp air. He locked his car, but didn't even think that it might be an area where a simple lock wouldn't make a difference to someone who wanted something from it. His black boots clicked on the concrete as he walked towards his new destination. The skinny grey jeans he wore hardly helped with the cool breeze, and he pulled his black cloth jacket tighter over his white tee shirt, popping the collar up around his neck.