Johnny Strife

I'm on Fire

Club Elysium was nearly empty on a Tuesday night, so from his seat in the gloom in a back corner of the bar, Seth Darrow had a clear view of the front door. Except for an empty (but not clean) glass ashtray, the scratched wooden surface of the table in front of him was barren. Seth hunched over it, leaning on his elbows, gazing at the club’s entrance with a look of feverish anticipation on his face. The light of the setting sun shone through the dingy panes of the tall, wide windows on either side of the glass plate door, bathing the worn wood of the tables and booths around him in a gentle pink glow.