Weekly is my new routine

Bruce wondered how people could stand the music, much less each other in the closeness of the dance floor. But he had not come here to cleanse or socialize, he had come to drink and drink he would, but on some one else's dollar, Henry would handle the money while he handled the drinks.
As the night progressed , he handle his drinks well as he watched, wallowing I his own self pity as others made connections and danced. Closer than he would have liked but that was with a fathers heart.
He mused on the probable damage his ears and other organs make be taking from the though drowning music and the vodka he drank like soda. To drink it like water would have been a more apt description but he didn't care, his mind had started up the stages of intoxication soon after the 7th drink and after that he lost count. The buzzed transformed to the thickening though to the sludge of drunkenness and he bemoaned to no one the divorce that the court had designated. Loosing the only life he had had up to that point. And how the bitch, no, whore of a wife had brought it about by the affair she had been having. Some guy who had been sharing HIS bed in HIS house. The home he had bleed for and sweated over.
When he had come home early, he had walked in on then in the heat of it. Grunting and rutting during the school hours that had kept the kids from finding out some how. In the drive had been the red truck he had seen driving by as he had driven home from work. To often and to recently now that it came to mind. But what it had come down to the fight, when he had walked in, dropping his shoulder bag by the door and gapping at them as they finished their heat they were in, oblivious to the rest of the world.
They finished and the air pressure of the house slammed the door behind him. The room stank of sex and sweat, clothes strewn over HIS hard earned furniture. They had looked up, his wife horrified, the man with a strange look of deer in head light that changed into a shit licking smile that had woken a rage that he had not felt since his earlier football days when he had channeled it into the defense line.
They had separated, the man, standing to a full  6' 5" with only a shirt to Bruce's 5' 11" in button up shirt and dress pants. The shirt proclaimed "Beefies, two for one happy hour" and stretched a size to small over his chest.
His wife slithered off the couch and back up, clutching her garments, trying to find the open top of the pants and opening her mouth to speak.
"B-Bruce,"she stammered, finding the top and almost jumping into them," I-I didn't expect you home so early."
The though, I can tell, flashed through his mind but remained unspoken as the man spoke, his voice the deep thrum of a baritone, no nervousness or stuttering, but calm and collected. A man who is used to be under pressure.
"Your wife and I were just getting acquainted."
The almost hint of self pleasure in that voice made him stop for a second, he looked back at his wife of almost 6 years and bearer of his two children, who was just standing there blushing redder than sun burn and stammering "Bruce."
The man turned slamming a fist into her face, causing what would be later a cracked jaw, spinning her around to the floor.
Bruce launched himself at the man before he turned around, shouting something that might have been a threat or insult to his wife. His linebacker muscles screamed at their sudden demand and his hip caught the corner of the couch between them as they collided and his low point of impact caused them to tumble. After which it became a confusion of fists, elbows and knees as they each had tried to beat each other senseless. It would have been a close thing had it not been a close thing had it not been difference in their ages, his prime being behind him and this mans being now as he proceeded to bruse and bludgeon every inch of Bruce until the police arrived.
They had been dragged apart, the man whose name turned out to be Dave something had been allowed to put on his pants before being put into a police car while Bruce had failed to get back at him, spitting the vilest things he could think of at him as he was put into the back of a police car.
Then, after the police statements and the whore wife moving out of the house with the children, she had claimed that he had hit her, HE, who had never even  spanked the children if they had behaved badly.
There had been court and the arguments and the verdict which had decided HIM to be he unfit father and denied him everything but the child support and his truck. She had let him take what clothes he could pack and a few toiletries, even as she seemed confused at the turn of events and the children spent an extended trip at their grandparents while the separation took place.
Three years later, after losing his job and getting rehired by another company headed for bankruptcy, he was here at a club, almost dragged by Henry  who was convinced that if he looked hard enough, he would find a girl in the shallow chromosomed denizens of this loud hell. Looking at the bottom of his empty glass, he wondered though his drunkenness how it had come to this.
And that is when it hit him, literally. The cloaked martian battle ship that would end up demolishing a third of the city and smearing to a paste all his fellow nightclubbers took Bruce out first. His head snapped forward his glass driven into his eye like a grisly monocle, killing him instantly, much to his dismay, though sparing him from the liquid gravel sound and the hardly voiced uproar of those around him being ground into the floor. The music soon followed, squealing into nothingness as fast as the battleship fell. As mentioned, that section of the city was flattened, the ships cloaking only failing once it had stopped moving and the piloting lights that lined the ship gave off a brought orange hue that pulsed to a bullhorn like siren of alarm, designating to at least the martian that the crash landing had hardly damaged the ship.

A stroll

He wiped his mouth, he had been messy again, but hadn't been able to conrol himself. He reached down and picked up the trash, cramming it in the nearest trash can, it was too big to fit but with his supeior stregnth and a crunch it fit.
He looked around, good no one was around.He strolled slowly around the bushes, out of the semi concealed corner of the park that he had been dwelling in. He had been out longer than ususal but he enjoyed his midnight walks.
The park wasn't very large and soon he was out of it and turning down the streets lit by their luminescance making his way back to his appartment. No one was on the street and the few cars that passed him took no notice.
His third floor apartment greeted him with the glow of occupency as he opened the door. THe stairwell light had been off but his night vision had alway been great. Inside, the appartment smelled of dust and mildew they had not been able to cocse out of the wood work itself and the sented candles they lit only seemed to renforce the underlying oders.
From the set of mismatched couches that somehow were wedged in split level living room, Ashley looked up from her laptop and grinned at him.
"Enjoyed your walk,?" She asked rising and eyeing his front.
He looked down and saw that his front was darkened with his repasted and blushed.
Ashely had drifted over to him and ran a finger over the area, it came away darkened and she put it in her mouth. She moaned and grinned at him.
"You should have shared or taken me along if you were going to have a snack, and you always have that knack of chosing the best ones."
He looked at her, her black curly hair sholder lenght and out of control, her skin white from lack of sun, the perfect nose and red lips now thinned in repproach. And her eyes, a mis matched set of Red and brown, almost lustful at the moment.
A giggle broke out from her throat breaking the sexy vixen mood and she spun away. Her face breaking into a grin as his arms cluched at thin air in an attempted hug
"You will have to be quicker than that."She grinned as she sat back down to be bathed in the shifting light of the webisode that she had been watching."And you should get cleaned up, if Jake sees you like that, there will be hell to pay."
He nodded and then made his way though the kitchen and to his bed room. THe dresser creaked as he opened the drawers and extracted a new set of clothes and changed, tossing his soiled things into his laundry basket.
He made his way to the bath room and washed his face, the water running red as the dried stuff came off of his face. Glancing up, he was met by a red haired Mand with freckles and pale skin. A stubbly beard started and would be shaved soon but not just yet. One his throat, a bought of scar tissue starting at the base of his throat to where his adams apple was. He had never been able to speak after that had happened and had taken up sign language to tell people what he needed. He hated how the only noise he could make was a grunt that told nothing of how he really felt.
He stopped, water dripping from his face and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He heard the water dripping, and whoose of the facet as it gushed water, the tinny sound of light tubes above the sink. The beating of his heart.
He opened his eyes, letting out his held breath and turned putting on his shirt.