Some Nights
Sid doesn’t go home that night at all, but heads to the nearest bar that’s open late as it goes, late until the sun peaks in the sky and comes ‘round to start yet another day. He walks in, cheeks flushed with the pink pigmentation of a man who’s overcome with so many things, but not everything just yet. The stench of ale is thick and the smoke settles, surrounding his head as he strides his way in, his hair curling in the humidity of the night.
Some nights you don’t remember.
Some nights you never forget.
He doesn’t think of Dominic Foy as he sidles to the bar and straddles himself a stool, plush with red leather and it feels like a throne as he hears those words in his head again, again and again and again to the beat of his heart, beating faster and faster as the adrenaline threatens to overwhelm him.
--she’s…she’s turning in her bloody grave here along with all the other poor sods that Bingham’s murdered…
Christ, his fingers ache, but he still takes the drink the redhead in the corner buys him and the spark in his eyes reminds Sid of Dan, just a bit. There’s adrenaline coursing through his veins, this power of information, this font of knowledge. He knows what the entire world is waiting on bated breath to find out; they just don’t know they need to hear it yet. It’s going to hit tomorrow and Sid doesn’t even know if he can wait that long. He picks up his drink and makes his way to the corner to say hello to the nice bloke with the thick wallet and a taste for brunettes.
Some nights you never forget.
He leaves after telling the bloke that he’s nipping out for a fag and slides his coat on before leaving in the break of day. The papers have printed and they’re out on the stands and all around him, there’s men and women reading and whispering, the things that he’s already heard.
“She was pregnant…”
“…resign…”
“I knew I shouldn’t have voted for that man…”
Sid just keeps walking to the sound of the bristling newspapers and he doesn’t sleep until the ache in his fingers and the rush of his blood give way to something more quiet and even; the remnants of a storm.