Drowning in the East River Read Online Free PDF Page A

and stagnant night air. Even the laundry on the lines stretching far above the street were unnaturally still.
     
    David dug a match out of his pocket and struck a cigarette. He took a comforting drag as he turned on 58th Street.
     
    David glanced up into the washed out night sky as he slowly released the lung full of smoke. He stopped walking. It had been a long time since he'd looked up at the night sky, and there seemed to be half the number of stars then he remembered. He took another puff off the cigarette dangling from his lips. Nausea churned in his stomach, sending a sickening pulse through his muscles.
     
    The Birchwood was a quaint neighborhood bar nestled in the basement of a brownstone on the corner of 61st Street and Second Avenue. Looking around the quiet street corner, David stubbed his cigarette out on the rim of a trashcan as he turned into the bar’s main entrance. The narrow wooden door opened up onto an even tighter staircase. Stepping inside, he felt weighed down by the heavy air, smelling of musty body odor.
     
    The stairway opened right up into the bar. A comfortable, dark space, most of the cliental were regulars who had been coming to The Birchwood for decades. There was a feeling of former glamour to it, but the ornate, emerald wallpaper was starting to fade. The elegant wood paneling was starting to chip and peel with age. It wouldn't be long before the building would be in need of a good renovation.
     
    David sat down at his usual barstool, taking a cursory glance towards the bored looking bartender. A calm stillness hung over the room, the small handful of drinkers all lost in their own problems. The only real noise came from a friendly game of darts in the back corner of the bar.
     
    Somewhere across the room, a piano played a vaguely familiar tune.
     
    The bartender looked over at David, and took a step towards the liquor bottles which were spread on a rickety shelf behind the bar. "Your usual?”
     
    "Brandy, please." David replied. His voice sounded flat and scratchy. The scars on his back itched. They always did when he felt anxious. David rolled his shoulders, hoping the moving fabric on his shoulders would relieve the overwhelming itching.
     
    David took a long sip of the thick, brown liquid. He listened to the blood pumping in his temples as he the drunken sense of calm washed over him.
     
    David balanced his smoldering cigarette on the edge of a nearby ash tray and ran his hands through his hair. With a moment to let his body stop, David realized how much his muscles ached.
     
    Around him, the dimly lit, sweaty bar gently swayed as the alcohol settled on his empty stomach. David closed his eyes, resting his forehead in his hands. His head was pounding. It was a deep, sharp, tension headache. It felt like there was a needle stabbing into his head behind his eyes.
     
    He set the shot glass back down. Sitting up, David dug in his pockets for his crumpled carton of Lucky Strikes. He let the cigarette hang loosely from his lips as he stared down at the bar in front of him, his mind groping for a next step.
     
    "What are you doing here, Freeman?”
     
    David looked up. Elise Carpenter was staring him down, a playful smirk on her face. Her hands were on her hips. Seeing the exhaustion on his face, she stopped. Her face morphed into a look of concern. She moved and sat down at the barstool next to him, resting a gentle hand on the small of his back. "You look like hell, David.”
     
    An ex Ziegfeld girl, Elsa had made herself a comfortable home in the quiet Birchwood Bar. One of thousands of chorus girls who flocked to the Great White Way a decade earlier, Elise had been forced to adapt as Vaudeville lost its power and silent films moved out to California. It was a thinly veiled secret that Elise was also a high class prostitute, entertaining a small group of clients on the side to finance a comfortable lifestyle for herself.
    Elise was a petite woman, not much older than