GENTLEMEN CLUB - HOODIE - BLACK
PART 9 - CHAPTER 2
Thrown backwards, I go flying through the crowd of hobos, my feet not even touching the ground. Without understanding how, I end up far from the horde. Looking up into the thick polluted wasteland’s fog, I can make out three large silhouettes. They are all wearing worn out black suits, James Bond style, only after having beaten forty communists with his bare hands. Their freshly shined black shoes show a few signs of wear and tear. After a private discussion amongst themselves, they turn to me: “What the hell are you doing here?”. I get to my feet, dust myself off, and leave a moment of silence hanging in the air: “Are you cops?”. All three guys burst out laughing like Sicilian mafiosos, then the tallest one answers me: “We are the opposite of cops, we fight for freedom, we are the Gentlemen Club”. I start to wonder what kind of freemasonic quagmire I’ve fallen into. Then another adds: “What are you doing so far from your perfect home?”. Fuck it, these guys are just nutters dressed-up as penguins, so I explain to them what I do for a living, tell them how difficult things have become in the city, that mankind disgusts me with its technology and its addiction to social media and to anything digital. The three guys look at each other, then look back at me, and one says: “We can give you a reason to live. But for that, you’ll have to follow us”.
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