Chapter 5: Hope, Whiskey, and Second Chances

5

After we left, on the way to the bus stop, my legs shook so bad, I nearly missed the curb. I’d never been that close to real violence before.

The night air was sharp and cold, and I could barely walk straight. My whole body tingled with leftover fear.

Old Hank was still shaken. “Damn, that scared me to death.”

He lit a cigarette with trembling hands, exhaling hard.

I said, “Old Hank, you had it rough today. I’ll treat you to a good meal to calm your nerves.”

I tried to lighten the mood, but my voice was still shaky.

Old Hank waved his hand. “I’m too scared, my stomach’s in knots, I can’t eat… But today I really believe that saying.”

He managed a weak grin, eyes wide with relief.

“What saying?”

I stuffed my hands in my pockets, watching the headlights blur by on the street.

“Knowledge is power.”

He said it with awe, as if it were the first time he’d truly believed it.

That evening, as the city lights came on, I went to the club. The front desk girl greeted me warmly. “Sir, how many in your party?”

The place was humming, all neon signs and perfume, the faint smell of bleach and perfume mixing in the air. I felt out of place in my windbreaker, but I walked up to the desk anyway.

I said, “Just me.”

I tried to sound confident, but my voice came out softer than I’d meant.

“Would you like a bath, a massage, or karaoke?”

She didn’t miss a beat, her smile practiced and bright.

“I’m here to see someone…”

I hesitated, scanning the room for a glimpse of 25.

“Oh, I see.” The receptionist smiled. “Do you know any of our ladies?”

Her tone was friendly, but there was something sharp behind her eyes.

“25.”

I said it quietly, hoping she wouldn’t make me repeat myself.

I waited in a softly lit private room for a while, and then 25 pushed the door open and walked in. She looked just like before, light makeup, not exactly beautiful but pleasant, like a glass of whiskey—smooth and lingering.

She closed the door gently behind her, smoothing the sleeves of her blouse. The air between us buzzed with something unspoken, the memory of everything we’d been through in just a few days.

She came in, about to say something, but her professional smile froze for a moment. Her eyes flickered with something—relief? Amusement? For a second, she looked almost shy. Then she smiled again. “Why is it you?”

Her eyes flashed with surprise, then softened. For the first time, her mask slipped, just a little.

“It’s me. Not welcome? Didn’t you say last time, first time is free?” I smiled back.

I tried to keep my voice steady, but I could feel my heart thumping hard in my chest. This time, it wasn’t nerves—it was hope. She stepped closer, her perfume cutting through the bleach and cheap cologne. “So, college boy,” she whispered, “what are you hoping for?”