Chicken Soup
By Mel Bossa
Trying not to spill the shooters, Jimmy carefully pushed his way through the crowded club. Around him, the energy was unbelievable. The dance floor was so jam-packed, he had to go around it in order to get to the main bar.
Every breath he drew in was like sucking in water. Jimmy’s throat hurt again tonight, but he ignored it. An attractive guy in a fitted yellow tank stepped on his toe, and when the man yelled an apology into Jimmy’s ear, Jimmy smiled and gave him a thumb’s up. Tonight, there was no problem. No beef to be had with anyone.
Through the intoxicating scents of colognes and deodorants, he could smell sweat. It was late in the night, and most guys had lost their shirts. There was skin everywhere—people bumping and grinding on the floor. He wished he
