The stool bounces to the beat of my feet, my mouth radiating the sonic vibrations as they sing through my trumpet. The mellow melody swims easily through the stale thick-skinned atmosphere of the Karmic Kitty, a sex and jazz club right here in Detroit. Finishing off a lonely tune, I slump off the stage, the only applause coming from Cindy Cocksucker who's only there 'cause she's next on stage. She doesn't bother, the only people in the bar today are the regular sociopaths who only leave to collect their dole, only to waste it on a doll.

Slinking down the stairs I contemplated spite, rolling up my fear into a joint and setting my lungs on fire. The fumes from the bar had already set alight my mind, maybe that's why I'm so self-conscious. Try taking a deep breath and tell me I'm a passive toker. Leaving the stagment bar for the dogs to bark and bite, I wandered through the hall to Room 10, what I preferred to call 'The Loom'.

Trashing in the corner my Yamaha trumpet with my other Yamaha trumpet, I would have killed myself with boredom if only I knew how. A card under the door saying 'Thanks for the good times' reminded me of all the bad times I've had with Helen, my broad. From the bin I retrieved her photo, and set the rubbish bin on fire. I put her photo next to the phone, where the answer machine used to be. I got rid of it 'cause no-one ever called me. But then I put the photo face down because I remembered.

'Have I really been high this long?' I asked myself, scratching her birthday from a yearly planner. AIDS and coke never did go down well. I switched to rolling and toking, but she loved her smack. Unusually, something disturbed me. Something inside me said she deserved this. She deserved to get it good and hard.

It took me a while to recognise my conscience, I could've sworn it got a divorce or a restraining order or something. It wasn't welcome, but I wasn't gonna bust my butt doing something about it. I didn't feel guilty. I doubt it, at least. It kinda atrophied a few years back. Before drugs. Before Helen. Before AIDS. Just before.

Limping out of the room, I made my way to the end of the hall. The common shower had no hot water, and the common bathroom never got cleaned. The paper was in rolls on the floor, soaked in piss. I would have thrown up for the stench if I weren't so used to it.

Shooting up with a needle I found behind the basin, I kinda felt disoriented. Slowly stepping through the hallway, I just kept walking past my room without realising it was where I wanted to go. I just made my way, walking, walking. I came to a stop that seemed sudden, even though I saw it a hundred feet away. A red door labelled 'EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY' towered in front of me. In my mind I ran away from the scared red door, but in the world I just fell forward, pushing the door open.

The hit on my head snapped back my senses. My eyes stung from the beams of light all around, attacking me from above. Daring a look, I saw it was night. Picking myself up, I stood and looked at the source of the light.

A white neon cross illuminated the downtown street from across the road. It stood on top of a redbrick church, converted from a brothel a decade or so ago. But it shone. It glowed no matter how dark it was.

As I stood in awe, the Karmic Kitty burned down in flames from the bin I lit a long time ago.