Drinks with the devil.

  Strangest dream last night. My husband and I were at a bar...and wait...that wasn't the strange part.
I bumped in to a girl I know called P.  She told us about a better, more exclusive bar that you can only enter if you pray to the devil and find his money.  Clearly we did just that (my Catholic mother would be horrified).
 Suddenly, we're on a dark street where I find a small pile of what looks like black carbon paper fillagreed in gold. I pick it up and it crunches and partially crumbles in my hand.
  Ahead, we see an old house in the process of renovation - scaffolded and such.  We discover a bar concealed inside the scaffolding. The music was rich, sexy, experimental melodies.  The patrons all looked like the types I used to know - social climbers dressed in well arranged combinations of exclusive labels and op-shop chic.
  We had a drink with the devil, who had beautiful, youthful, blue eyes in an aging, beaten up face and spoke a little softer than Tom Waits.  He's only of average height by the way.
  The devil was witty, charming and friendly in an aloof kind of way.  I almost felt like he was slightly intimidated.  He counselled my husband and I on our relationship.  Everything he said made sense and it almost seemed like he cared.  Then he told me "You have to be careful pretty girl, I can see scars inside you, particularly around your lungs."  In a matter of fact way, as if I'd expected him to say something like that, I replied;  "Lung cancer right?"  He nodded with pseudo-sympathy.  Then I laughed and said "Is that the best you can do?"  My husband put his arm around me and said "What a wanker". I woke soon after.
  So, Tuesday night drinks with the devil...I wonder where I'll go tonight.