The first 100 or so words:
The music was a hard smothering rock that even without the words told stories of sin and pleasure. The bass pounded and the guitar undulated rocking the bodies on the dance floor in a way the violent unmelodious sounds favored by this new generation could never hope to emulate. It was the musical tastes of the owner as well as the dark, almost oppressive, atmosphere that drew Carrington back to The Golden Chalice time and again. Here he found a temporary sense of peace as he watched the dancers writhe and grind on the dance floor and in the gilded iron cages suspended above it, from where he sat, sprawled really, on one of the faux velvet couches in the VIP section.
Sour Apple Puckers · Sun Feb 01, 2015 @ 03:08pm · 0 Comments |