As Mikey walks through his past life he stumbles across the old two-story dive bar he used to work at. 20 dollars an hour to deep fry prawns in the back and drink cocktails with customers.
What a job.
He begins to walk upstairs and accidentally catches the eye of a beautiful woman sitting with four self-important fellows; he winks and finishes his graceful climb up the carpeted stairs.
Feeling glares penetrate the back of his neck, “believe it Mikey, they noticed that.”
Mikey begins walking towards the toilet, no one he knows works here anymore and he is worried. Other than the staff nothing has changed, but he is still worried. The vibes pretty important and Mikey supposes the vibe has changed.
Because those round tables with those plush benches encasing them so elegantly that it makes you wonder are still there, and those portraits of stern faced rock gods dressed in old ladies’ frocks looking down at the customers are still there, and the customers, still enjoying the fried prawns and 10-dollar cocktails with a small serving of drag Bowie watching them with his piercing alternative eyes are still there.
But the Bartender wasn’t smiling and this whole place was off, stinking further of rotten dreams and acrid break ups.
Mikey finally walks into the surprisingly clean bathroom (It was never clean when he worked there). The bathroom had a urinal on the left and a cubicle on the right with the wash basin beside the door.
Approaching the urinal, he unzips his jeans and hears “Where’s that cool guy?”
The door flings open and one of those guys from the table with the girl is there with a cold glint in his eyes and the old meat knife from the kitchen.
Mikey, unsure, with his extra appendage still out, jumps into the cubicle and tries to lock it.
The lock won’t budge.
This was distressing to Mikey, even though he knew that if this guy was determined, a lock was pretty much useless.
Wanting to speak but clearly afraid he waits for his own inner-moment of shock to abate, but it doesn’t.
This man was hacking at the cubicle door with his kitchen machete and thankfully, for just one second it got caught, the blade was stuck.
Mikey took the initiative and slams into the door, knocking the knife out of the man’s hand and shoving him against the wall, Mikey takes a swing but the man dodges and runs out of the bathroom and back downstairs.
Mikey, with that stupid adrenaline that he sometimes gets after a fight decides to follow him out the building.
He begins running down the street, passing a two-dollar shop and a tough sort of mother with a young child in a pram.
Sick of being chased by some young punk who made a ‘pass at his girl’ the man pulls out a handgun and begins emptying his gun. In his exhaustion he missed everybody.
The mother, outraged, tackles the man into the busy street where they are both hit by an oncoming car.
Mikey, distraught and confused walked into the two-dollar shop and asked to use their phone to call the police.
That was Mikey’s past life.