Why Am I Here Still?

Work was awful today. Really, really bad. A cocktail waitress that I used to work with was murdered last week by a stalker. She had a husband. She had kids. The stalker shot himself after shooting her. We now have mandatory escorts to our cars. Even day-shift girls are now being pressured to valet our cars with the club. Is this a result of the economy? Perhaps not. Girls have ended up in dumpsters outside of strip clubs for decades. I feel horrible that it doesn't have to make sense. She was a sweet girl. Nice person with an okay disposition. I really didn't know her that well. I remember she looked tired most of the time. Probably because she was taking care of two kids and trying like hell to keep her house which was located outside of the city. Not easy to do these days in California.

The club was pretty much empty today. I left with one hundred dollars which made me want to cry. Living in the city is not cheap and rent was due yesterday. This of course was the direct result of the cops coming in earlier in the week showing pictures of the guy to see how many dancers/staff recognized him. Case closed assholes! The freak show is dead. What more do you want? Needless to say customers fled.

I have a funny feeling about it all. It brings me back to the saying 'believe none of what you hear and only half of what you see'. There has got to be something more to the case if the cops are still asking questions. Still, I feel incredibly guilty getting pissed over such mundane things as money when that poor girl is dead. She was a mother of two for fucks sake! Her murder is now a taboo subject in the club. I exchanged ideas with the bartender who gave me a few free shots of raspberry flavored vodka. There was a creepy guy who wore jeans and a dark hoody that stood in the alley way across from our club and watched the girls leave at night, but that was months ago. He only did it for a week or two. The bouncers and floor hosts scared him off after the girls started complaining.

I don't know. I'm broke, drunk, and still trying to process. I want to get my .22 Ruger I have stashed in Florida right now.