Happy Hour

Some places keep you safe… for a while

The rooftop held court to the gathering. It belonged to Apartment Block D-9. Elias lodged his creaky body into a broken deckchair. His grey trousers had ragged bottoms, and the sole of his left shoe had a hole in it. A brown tweed jacket covered his frail torso, and his hair hid beneath a green flat cap.

Bo perched herself on the edge of an upright milk crate. The youngest of the gathering, she had tied back blonde hair and wore an old pair of white Nike Air trainers. Black leggings clung tightly to her solid legs; a black bomber jacket clung to her body. She shuffled her ever-present headphones from one ear,

‘It doesn’t change you know, it doesn’t get any better!’ she shouted at Harlan.

But he couldn’t help himself. Every time they gathered, which was normally Friday evenings, he just stood at the edge of the rooftop staring at the skyline. The smouldering evening sky held a fascination for him. His long grey trench coat hung from his broad shoulders. His curly blonde hair sat on his head with total abandon.

‘It might one day, it just might you know. I can feel the sunlight beginning to break through this shitty smog.’

Dex and Nola were a married couple who made up the rest of the gathering. It had been noted by the others how they never ever touched each other. In fact, they barely spoke to each other. They both wore hoodies, jeans and trainers. They always sat opposite each other on slowly rotting wooden stools. Both had misery and dejection painted across their expressions. It could be said that they brought the mood down, but the was no mood present; no ambience.

No one can remember how this ritual started. The city had been in decline for years though. They all knew that much. The infrastructure had failed. Digital systems worked sporadically. The Commission had managed to keep control though. Most people had retreated indoors, plugged into stim-feeds.

They fed on a cocktail of hyper-personalised content, visuals, sounds and dopamine-triggering stories. Along with synthetic emotions it was all designed to keep a user ‘plugged in’. There was nothing to be had outdoors anymore. Drones occasionally hovered but people had now learned to stay invisible. These rooftop gatherings provided scant respite, but no one really knew each other and didn’t particularly care either.

Bo put the bottle onto the small table in the middle of them all. It was the same bootleg stuff. A reused bottle with a faded label, it wasn’t even that strong, just cheap grain alcohol watered down. Questions were never asked of Bo. She was clearly underage to be drinking, but needs must and all that. So, they all shared the one bottle every Friday night, all bar Elias. He just wanted company, and anyone would do.

The ritual wasn’t about the drinking, it was about remembering to share something, to feel part of something. It was a moment of quiet togetherness among the ruins. A pale homage to the old days when people laughed, when people cared. She poured the bottle into some plastic cups. Harlan maintained his gaze as she handed him a cup,

‘Look at that burnt orange sky, you know you can almost hear this city groan like a tired animal.’

‘Very poetic.’ Elias teased, his pulse thudding through his inert body.

‘As you wish Elias, but one thing is sure, they can’t touch us here.’

Bo shuffled her backside on the milk crate. Dex looked at Nola, she returned a look of total disdain as she sipped at the drink. His hand trembled as he reached for his cup. Harlan reached into his trench coat. He pulled out a second bottle,

‘A treat for us all,’ he smiled through his words. It was rare.

It was a clean bottle with a pristine label; its appearance verged on luxurious. It had a majesty, the first bottle was to feel honoured to be in its presence. The gathering held still. This ritual had never changed before. One bottle, one orbit, one moment for all. Now there were two. Glances were exchanged between everyone. Bo took the lead and popped the cork,

‘Maybe we should try mixing it with what’s left of the other bottle?’

She wasted no time as she topped the plastic cups up. It was a gesture of blending and defiance. Elias harboured suspicion as he watched everyone sip at the new mix. This could be generous, or it could be dangerous. He felt dispersal might be the only option. The second bottle was eventually emptied with no further words. Harlan continued his vigil of the skyline, Bo listened to her music, Dex and Nola continued to ignore each other and Elias steeped himself in doubt as to the longevity of the gathering.

*****

Bo climbed the crumbling stairwell. Her flashlight flickered as she navigated the concrete steps. A week had passed since the second bottle had appeared. As she emerged onto the rooftop, she heard music coming from an old Bluetooth speaker. Elias retained his pose on the broken deckchair, disapproving and distrusting. Dex and Nola sat facing each other again.

Two new bottles now sat on the table. They were surrounded by 5 plastic champagne flutes. One of them had a taped-over crack on it, it was for Elias just to make him feel part of the ritual. It would remain empty. Harlan picked up his glass and went to the edge of the rooftop. The smouldering orange night light was as strong as ever. The smell of burning rubber hung in the air. The gathering sipped away at their drinks. Dex attempted conversation with Bo, Nola walked over to Harlan to do the same. Elias felt hatred growing inside him. It wasn’t about this; these gatherings were about the silence. It meant something. Now it was changing. He felt like something sacred was unravelling.

As the night wore on the drink took its toll. Arguments stewed and then spewed into the air. This connection was bringing instability, emotions were leaking back in. Elias felt drawn to it and terrified by it at the same time. It was Dex’s turn to bring something to the party. He pulled a fresh bottle out from a carrier bag under his rotting stool.

Elias watched as Dex poured from the new bottle. This one seemed to throw rays of light back at anyone looking at it. It glistened; it was both delicious and dangerous. The bottle seemed to hum, quietly; mechanically.

“Where did that come from?” Elias rasped.

Dex grinned, Bo’s headphones beeping away with the sounds of electronica, ever louder. Dex swapped his grin with Nola’s; she started to laugh.

“They sent it, said we’d earned it,” said Dex.

Elias froze. A red light blinked from beneath the table. A stim-feed relay node. Elias shielded his eyes,

“No,” he gasped, stepping back.

Harlan gently nodded,

“We’re all connected again now, Elias. Just like everyone else out there.”

The white noise filled Elias’ ears and head. He looked down at his hand. The cracked champagne flute firmly in his grasp. He hadn’t even realised he’d taken a sip.