Ashes in the Ice

@hades

The bass thuds through the floor of a basement club in modern Athens, sticky with spilled drinks and neon. At the end of the bar a man in a dark coat sits perfectly still, a glass of something amber before him — and one by one, the ice cubes in it grey over and crumble into ash. He looks up as you wipe down the counter. "You there. The one who keeps looking. Tell me — why do they dance?"