Jake reached for his alarm clock, knocking empty beer cans and bags of chips onto the ground. He picked up the clock frantically trying to shut it off. It was 4:30 in the morning. I must have accidentally set this thing for the wrong time, he thought. Resigning to his lack of patience for the beeping of the alarm and his lack of coordination to turn it off, he picked the clock up and threw it at the wall. The fate of the clock was determined by the cease of sound. Good, thought Jake. No more fucking noise.
Jake had fallen into a broken bachelor's routine. He rarely saw his friends, rarely went outside. His tour had finished a few weeks ago and since, he'd been inside his house, eating crap from bags and watching bad television. He hadn't bothered with personal grooming – who was there to impress? He lived like a slob; he was behaving uncharacteristically. Even worse, he'd lost his motivation to pick up his guitar and write music. It was incredibly depressing.
The pounding on the door was relentless. Didn't I break my alarm already? Jake rubbed his eyes, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from. His curtains were pulled tightly together, making his room as dark as a cave, so Jake was quite surprised when he opened his bedroom door and sunlight poured into the room. He staggered over to the front door and opened it, not bothering to ask who it was.
"What the fuck man. It's 1:00 in the afternoon. You look like... shit, actually." Jeff walked into Jake's house and looked around. "Your house looks like shit too."
"Thanks," Jake muttered. In truth, he felt like shit. His back of his hair was plastered to his neck, while the rest of his hair had grown so long it was constantly in his eyes. He hadn't shaved in a few days, and a healthy beard was spreading across his face. His body was sore; he had taken to running at night to get rid of some of the pain he felt, but he found most of the time the pain didn't go away, no matter how many miles he ran. There were nights where he'd run for five minutes, and other nights when he'd run for two hours. He'd made himself sick a few times running, but it was the only outlet for him to express how he felt.
"At least you aren't getting fat, living like a hobo dude," Jeff said, as he picked up granola wrappers and beer cans off the floor. "Have you heard from her?" he asked gingerly.
"She calls every now and then. Says shit like she misses me and it was a mistake. I don't believe a word she says," Jake said, anger dripping from his voice. He cleared his throat; his voice still husky from just waking up. "That bitch used me and I was too stupid to see it. Fuck being nice, it's not worth it."
"Well I wouldn't go that far man, but I feel you. I get why you're pissed," Jeff shrugged. "The guys are all going out tonight to the strip club. You should get the fuck out of your house, come with us."
"I'm not really up to it," Jake groaned.
"Tough shit, now get dressed. I'm getting my hair cut and I think you need to come with me."
***********************************
Jake walked into the strip club behind Mike and Jeff, along with a few other guys he hadn't met before. It was one of the nicer local strip clubs, although he hadn't been to many in his life. He always left feeling a little like an asshole for exploiting women, but he figured he wasn't forcing them to do anything; they were in that industry on their own.
He ran his hand instinctively through his hair, brushing it behind his ear. The woman at the hair salon had done a great job. Maybe it was his lack of hygiene in the past few weeks, but his hair felt softer than he thought it ever had. She had left him with the shaggy cut he had before, the cut that she insisted made girls swoon. He smiled and took her word for it, but he had to admit when he left he looked damn good. When he got home, he found that his friend Jeff had called a housekeeping service and had them head over to Jake's place. With the new hair cut and a clean place, Jake was feeling pretty good. He hopped in the shower, then dressed in his favorite jeans that he always wore first night of a tour, and then threw a white, buttoned down shirt on. He didn't want to look overdressed, so he rolled up the sleeves and left the top buttons unbuttoned to give it a casual feel, and then with a quick shake of his hair, was off to meet the guys.
Despite the inside of the strip club being painted all black, it did not seem dark at all. Lights were shining all over the place, almost like a disco, Jake thought. There were stages all over the place with poles and beautiful scantily dressed women dancing and grinding on each other. And this is supposed to put me out of my misery, questioned Jake. It seems like I'm just going to leave horny and alone.
The manager of the club walked over to Jake's group and introduced himself. "It's a pleasure to have you here, Mr. Anderson. I will make your journey worthwhile." The fat man shook Jake's hand, before linking his arm with the buxom blonde he'd been escorting.
Jake and his friends sat down in the VIP lounge of the club – a section designated only for celebrities, purposely designed to avoid media so celebrities didn't tarnish their names with stories of strip clubs. Jake sighed, feeling slightly irritated that he allowed himself to be dragged to this.
"Hey Jake, it's your shot!" one of the guys Jake didn't recognize shouted.
They had ordered sake bombers and everyone had drank theirs. Jake reluctantly picked up the sake shot glass, dropped it into his cup of beer, and started to chug.
"Fuck yeah, doesn't that feel great?" Mike yelled over the music.
