Funky Town I

I wake up from a bad dream, I can't fall asleep again, it's time to go, it's always time to go. Live like you want to leave, leave like you want to live. I walk downstairs barefoot, go to the hotel reception desk, trying not to wake up the clerk. Today's not my payday, it's never my payday, it's never my day, and, actually, it's not even daytime. There are no days in Funky Town, it's always 5 am, Sunday. Fall. The Moon goes up, goes down, and it goes up again a couple hours later. Counting the moon cycles i've been in this black hole for about two years. Two years... and three months. The only reason I'm still alive is that I only mind my business, sometimes not even that. I'm one of the most calm guys in town, I even have a group of allies. "Friends", if you may. We have no address, but we know where to find each other. Frankie's Piano Bar. I take the tip can off the desk, slowly, silently. I open it up at the alleyway. Two fives, enough for a couple beers. I make my way among whores, drags, junkies and bums, trading what's left of coke for some smokes, a lighter and pocket change. I finally make it to Perl and Broken Bvd. There are the boys, Mark and gorey, smoking noires and stinking of sweaty leather. The poster says "Nino Bohren and band, all night, all nights". It's better than nothing. It's cheap. It's great. I still remember the first night I went in, I puked my guts out, the smell corroded my nose, guts and brain. It took me a while to get used to the pungent stench of sweat, smoke and urin that was eating the wallpapers. An Old-Timer told me once it was because this is the only bar in Funky Town that never closed since opening night. And that... that happened before I was born. I order a round of beers for the party, and I light the first smoke "of the day".