The Club

Jack was beckoning me from the Miller's Well and I tried to be a self conscious person, too conventional to get into such a conversation. I know I too dope, but there's something profane about Jack.

He talks about the dark side of everything. He states that the dark is the revealing notion and what not? The dark side of the ol' classic rock, the word 'disaster' fancies him so much.

He just wants to be there from the zero all again. I know its hard to be Jack but the oomphing current flows in me when I get high.

And he always stays high. He laughs at my intentions, he talks to me when I think of her and lie there wondering what made her bar me?

The life as already written somewhere, had been devoid of everything, but not now. Jack's there to about the abandoned, 'finger-on-the-lips' things.

He's so brutal and that he shames me and makes fun of me , and the best part already evolved, I joined him in laughing. He talks about the people who bear feathers on the coats and sing some hip hop to wear that tag name 'counter cultured'. As I talk this, he's beside me drinking wine.

The inner revolution got saturated, started delivering middle fingers at doorsteps, and on one fine evening, all set to be breathtakingly ruthless with the lifestyle which cannot think much more than shopping as a hobby or pastime or whatever.

Jack shoots the bar counter and approaches a coloured bartender and says,'Two pegs of Jack Daniels. No coke.' and the tender says 'and' & Jack replies ,'Boy, thats it. Two neat pegs of JD.' and gets amused by the similar question mark 'And' & this time frustated high time reckons who's high already, but fully convinced with the fact that the session is yet to get incepted, yells out 'dude! You heard it right. Two and only Two pegs of Jack Daniels.' and gosh! the similar question again 'And' and there arrives the most shittiest deployment of the human mankind whose respect seems to hold the pinnacle and no respect for the abstract seems to manage room even in a forbidden bar in the deserted late evening streets of East Ham.

And then the tender comes up with the answer 'And.....PLEASE' and Jack sighs exasperatedly 'Aaah! Please!!! Thank you for reminding . Sorry for overlooking. Any more courtesies to be delivered to savour the drink I buy with my own money?'

Jack settles down on his chair, with, at last, those 2 pegs of alcohol, empties a half of it at one go, lights up a stick, and laughs, 'People now lack great war and depression.' 'They need a club.'

And then, The Club saw its birth.

P.S : No Jack exists.