JLA Watchtower (Archive)

It took Corrine ten minutes to find her phone.

Navigating the contact list was a whole other issue by itself. Several times she’d dropped the phone on the bar. In her frustration, she’d ordered another. The bartender laughed at her a bit when he served it.

Screw him. Asshole.

And screw this phone, too. She can hail a cab… maybe just get a room here in the city. She’s seen the Bone Collector too many times to trust a cab back to Kenton. But can she really make the walk to the street is the question? Paranoid, paranoid Corrine.

It takes about fifteen seconds too long to get off the barstool, and she’d have face planted if the guy on the stool next to her hadn’t propped her upright again. She leans back against the bar, barely holding herself.

After a few minutes to gather herself, Corrine makes the push away from the bar. Her eyesight seems to be fading. Crap, is she passing out? If she can just get a cab… maybe some fresh air. Walk it off. Find some coffee and sit for a while. A diner. Or a club, maybe. She feels like dancing. She’s not sure she could right now but the music and other people would be nice.

Jesus, it’s cooler out on the street than it was in the bar. She sticks close to the walls of the buildings. As long as she walks a little fast she can balance. She can’t approach the street fast enough to flag a cab down, though. There’s so many people on the street. She’s got to find a place to sit down. Soon.

She rounds a corner, slamming into another pedestrian along the way. She tries to turn and mumble an apology but the world spins too much. She grips the brick of the wall. Something’s wrong. There’s a fire burning underneath her spine and she can’t see right and she’s really done it this time.

This sucks.