On The Edge

The music faded with each step Brett took toward his apartment, but he could still feel the beat of it, the low drums vibrating throughout the club and up toward him. Sometimes, like now, when he was tired, he almost regretted the decision to adopt the upper level of the club as his living quarters. Surely, a quieter home would have been better. The idea never lasted once he locked the door behind him, though. Perfect soundproofing made sure that he could sleep even through the club's wildest nights.

Massaging his temples, he toed off his shoes and left them by the door before walking toward the bathroom. The day had been long as he interviewed a dozen prospective bartenders.  On The Edge was fast gaining a reputation all over the country, and hearing all of the candidates repeat, too enthusiastically, how interested they were in working at the club had left him with a pounding headache.