Cryptic Obscurity

Jeff

Jeff was a partier, not a frequent partier, but a partier nonetheless. And when he stepped into the local club where his best friend Steven was having his bachelor party, he was positive things were going to get crazy. Unfortunately, he was wrong.

It seemed like the regular club scene, except for the small fact that their group of friends had a section of tables roped off--but that didn't stop other people from sitting there. Jeff had hoped that there would at least be a few strippers present to shake their ass for a dollar--one which Jeff wouldn't be throwing--but there were none. The best part, in his opinion, was the open bar, from which he swiped a few shots of tequila as soon as he saw the drab turn of events.

He snagged a stool at the bar and demanded that the bartender "surprise him with something new" whenever his glass was empty. So far he'd had 5 shots of tequila, a glass of Hennessey, one of vodka, and some icy blue drink that kept him licking his lips afterward. He signaled for the bartender to bring another drink as he spun around on the stool, producing a childish laugh.

Once he got a little dizzy and the entire contents of his stomach threatened to resurface, he stopped and scanned the sweaty club. He'd long since forgotten the name of it, but it was nothing out of the ordinary. It was a simple set up, with a DJ booth in one corner, a lounge area in another, a bar off to the side, and a sweaty dance floor slapped in the middle. Most of the people seemed to migrate to the lounge--retired on the lumpy white couches--or the dancefloor, grinding on each other and sharing perspiration. Not Jeff, he was a little too classy for that. Plus, he had business to tend to in the morning, and he couldn't do it if someone lifted his wallet while he was trying to cop a feel.

He grabbed the drink that the bartender had handed him and knocked it back as if it were just a glass of water. He stood up from the bar stool and nearly tripped over his own feet. The room seemed to be spinning and multiplying before his eyes, causing him to see quadruple of nearly everything in sight. He paused to steady himself before he continued walking toward the entrance.

"Hey, you cant drive!" He heard the bartender yell, though his voice was muffled and unclear.

"I'm not, and your drinks are shit!" Jeff shouted the words over his shoulder, though they came out incredibly soggy, worthless and indecipherable. He continued forward, gently shoving people out of his way.

The second he stepped outside into the cool New York air, he breathed in deeply, enjoying the freshness of it all. He felt liberated from the filth of the club. He began waving his hands around wildly, yelling "Cab!" To the vibrant yellow cars that sped down the street, completely oblivious to the people still waiting outside the club, snickering at his intoxicated antics.

He finally hailed a cab and hopped inside. He slurred out his address and tossed a few bills into the passenger seat, quite unsure of the facial value, and laughed at absolutely nothing as the car sped off.

Jeff lived in an expensive condo in one of the many skyscrapers of Manhattan, right on the top floor. It came equipped with a stainless steel kitchen, cherrywood floors, a jacuzzi tub and a fifty inch flat screen in each of the four bedrooms. Each bedroom was completely furnished, though he lived totally and completely alone.

At around 3 AM, he'd finally managed to jam his key in the lock and he stumbled into his condo. He slammed the door and walked to his bedroom, stripping off an article of clothing with every step that he took, only leaving on his left sock and boxers. He opened his bedroom door and scanned his quarters, only to find everything as he'd left it. His California King was neat and tidy, his connecting closet and bathroom doors shut, and his TV untouched. He nodded his head, satisfied and collapsed onto his bed without taking notice to the envelope...sitting on his nightstand.