“your soul,” the man offers deceitfully in a crackling low tone.

I hesitantly chuckle before realizing the offer wasn’t the joke I thought it was. Under the frantically flicking lights of the club, I fix my eyes at him.

“So you just need my ‘soul’ and you’ll buy me a drink?” I question him further, hoping this delusional man would buy me something I couldn’t afford.

A surprisingly wide grin creeping along his face, he assures me, “of course, a deal is that of a deal.”

My hand jingling the few pocket change I had, I decide to take up the mans offer. “Sure, get me one of those Fireballs,” I expressed eagerly.

“Ap bah bah bah, you must shake on it,” he interrupts, grin becoming more sinister. His slender palm extends towards mine. I notice the odd beads and gem brackets that clutter his wrists while his hand opens up. I hesitate briefly from the creepy vibes coming from this man, but I give his wrinkly hand a good shake.

I’ve never felt the same since that day. I always get this tingling sensation in my left foot.