Jackhammer

So we finally get inside the club. Coloured spotlights highlight an empty stage, and distorted music echoes over the speakers. This place looks like it used to be the height of fashion before all the shit started. None of these losers would have ever been let in here, 'cept maybe for a job cleaning out the toilets. Or the safe.
"Come here and have a drink" says one guy sitting under a neon beer light, handing me a plastic cup. Actually, I think it's the cap from a spray can.
"What is this shit?" i say. "Smells like gasoline."
"Tastes alright", he says.
"Oh yeah? What's it taste like?"
"Gasoline."
I drink it all in one go.
"I thought you'd like it", he says, picking me up off the floor.
"Jesus christ! What do you call this shit?"
"Jackhammer" he says.
"Why, is that what your head feels like the next morning?"
"Doesnt take that long. But that's not why we call it Jackhammer. It's got little bits of busted up cement in it. Dont ask."
"You should call it diesel. If you run out of gas, you could run that generator with this stuff."
"If we run out of gas, brother, we'll just drink in the dark."
"Drink enough of this stuff," I say, "and you'll be drinking in the dark on a fucking sunny day."