*****they are all dead*****

jay helfert said:
We crept slowly along the darkened hallway leading to the entrance. It seemed so secretive and mysterious, but that was the allure. Once at the door we gave a light tap, tap as instructed, and waited. The peephole opened and an eyeball rotated around, sizing us up. The door clicked open and in we went, a room almost as dark as the hallway we had just left. Here and there a few splotches of light, and the outlines of hunched figures engrossed in private convos. In the corner was a misty light coming from the ceiling. We moved that way and heard a murmur of activity. As we got closer we could make out the table, and the balls scattered over it. DAMN, we were in a fuck'n poolroom. We thought it was a whorehouse! :)
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And then, what I thought was a fart emerged solid. I knew then and there that the magic mushrooms had been a bad idea as breakfast, but the die was cast...
 
Shot awoke slowly, a bright light in his eyes. He was hungover as usual. His bed was hard, his pillow like a rock. He swung a fist irritably at his pillow. Pain exploded all of the way to his elbow! Wide awake now, he saw his pillow was a rock, a concrete wheel stopper at the sidewalk in front of the pool hall anyway. Wide awake from the sudden pain he took a slow inventory from the toes up. Everything seemed OK other than both hands swollen and battered and a tender spot from the corner of his eye to above his ear. He had been in a fight with someone, or several someones, he didn't remember yet. Looking back at the bright light he saw that it was a clear beer bottle with the sun shining through it. It was broken and there was blood on the jagged edge. Another more careful survey of his body; no cuts, no blood on him. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

He was in a parking lot, the familiar purple wall meant he was in front of Buff's, Buffalo Billiards New Orleans, Louisiana, that was. A good thing, they were open twenty-four hours a day and he badly needed a drink or three to put his morning together. He was almost wedged between a large four wheel drive pick-up and a car of some flavor. The truck was good, the rails down the side and large mirrors gave him something to help him climb to his feet. He walked mostly straight as he entered his cool, slightly dark, second home. He walked over to the bar, "Shot, make it a double." Shot had long since quit caring about the quality of the alcohol, just so it was strong. However, Tommy was a friend and reached for the Turkey. "Should you be in here after last night?"
 
Whenever I think I am getting stupider, I read the OP.
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