The Hungry Heart
Through every forest, above the trees
Within my stomach, scraped off my knees
I drink the honey inside your hive
You are the reason I stay alive
(Closer by Nine Inch Nails)
The man, still young, although there was an air of world-weariness about him, entered the seedy restaurant. It was as sweltering and crowded as he'd remembered it from his brief visit circa five years prior. Those five years had not changed the joint much. Perhaps dustier and grimier than then, it was still recognizable down to the placement of individual tables. Including the one he'd flipped in frustration back when the hunt for the mysterious beauty was consuming his nights and days.
As he looked around a sense of deja vu flooded him. He chuckled mirthlessly. He never would have predicted he'd refer to that time as 'the simpler days'. His obsession of yore had almost driven him to madness and likewise had his friends and band mates at the end of their wits. But when the wild goose chase finally brought him to the object of his lust, somewhere in the depths of the Sri Lankan jungle, all he could feel was a sense of disenchantment.
She'd wrestled him to the ground, a feat that seemed almost superhuman coming from such a svelte woman. She devoured his lips with a cat-like purr, a radiant goddess overflowing with strength and vitality, as if she were the essence of life itself. A witch, an eternal spirit, perhaps mother nature herself. All that encircled in his arms and throbbing in his veins, but it was not enough... nothing was ever enough.
The shriek of a parrot gets him out of his reverie. He had a purpose here, not just reminiscing. Casually, he looked around, trying to avoid attention, or at least as much as a white man of his size and stature in a place like this could. This wasn't exactly a tourist favourite after all. Even most of the locals, the nice families, the people with a clear conscience and a day job, avoided it. This was a den of iniquity straight out of a 30s pulp novel. Smugglers, drug dealers, criminals and low-lives of all sorts, loose women, all found their repast... and a chance at more business coming their way here. The owner did not mind, 'a customer is a customer' was his motto. The young man had heard it many times over back when he was grilling the shifty man over about the elusive beauty, reportedly a frequent guest of the establishment. In retrospect... perhaps she found it a fertile ground for fresh victims.
'Mr. Le Bon! I knew you'd come early, always so eager my customers...'