Dirty shame 0
Paradise City Burns, again
By Miss Paradise BJ, journalism student, unpaid investigator, caffeine-dependent disaster magnet
Paradise City looked prettier at night if you ignored the crimes. Neon drowned the streets in pink and electric blue, music leaked from underground clubs, and every stranger smiled like they either wanted your money, your secrets, or your clothes on the floor by sunrise. While most of Paradise City was busy partying, crying in nightclub bathrooms, or losing money at illegal poker tables, disaster struck one of the city’s most iconic bars: The Dirty Shame. Witnesses say the fire started near an old motorcycle parked outside the bar for nearly a week. Residents assumed it belonged to a mechanic, a gang member, or possibly a time traveler because in Paradise City nobody investigates suspicious vehicles unless they personally explode first.
According to several “witnesses,” the motorcycle had slowly been dismantled piece by piece throughout the week. One wheel vanished Monday. The exhaust disappeared Tuesday. By Thursday, somebody had apparently started removing parts with the kind of confidence usually reserved for IKEA employees and car thieves.
Then came the explosion.
The flames spread through the building fast. Bottles exploded behind the counter, neon signs melted into radioactive-looking puddles, and the karaoke machine continued playing “I Will Survive” for an amount of time best described as “psychologically aggressive.” By the time emergency services arrived, The Dirty Shame was collapsing inward like a flaming lasagna.
Casualties: Three people critically injured, one person lightly injured and approximately seventeen emotionally devastated customers who never got to pay their tabs.
Among the critically injured is myself, a college student from the nearby B.A.D. Sorority House. Friends describe me as “nice, sleep-deprived, and statistically likely to date terrible men.” I was found unconscious inside the garage near the motorcycle moments after the explosion.
The city’s fire chief, is currently at the local clinic personally assisting doctors in keeping me alive. Mostly because Paradise City’s hospital lost two surgeons last month after someone accidentally converted an operating room into a vape lounge. Meanwhile, the police department was unavailable during the incident because officers were busy responding to an “urgent violent disturbance” across town. The disturbance turned out to be the bank alarm downtown has been malfunctioning nonstop for three days. Now investigators are left with several questions:
Who owned the motorcycle?
Why was it being dismantled in public?
Was the fire accidental?
Why did someone report hearing gunshots before the explosion?
And most importantly:
Why does Paradise City still allow bars to store fireworks next to industrial cleaning products?
City Hall has promised a “full investigation,” which citizens recognize as government code for:
“We’ll form a committee, lose the paperwork, and blame teenagers.”
Rumors are already spreading through the city. Some say the motorcycle belonged to a local gang. Others believe the bar owner was involved in insurance fraud.
One question remains, what’s that lust that everybody speak?