A Short Story
(Disclaimer: To be fair, this is a 5,251 word, 20 page, double spaced in Word, short story. I dare you to read it regardless of its length. This is a collaboration of ideas I have been toying with for a long time. I created many characters out of seemingly thin air, gave them names, and threw them into the shark pit to see how they would react. I told only what I felt was necessary. Read it as you will. Enjoy! P.S.: While taken from base personalities of people I know, all of the characters and events are fictitious, and serve no other purpose but the purpose my musings for your entertainment.)
I
The transition of walking into
Blake’s was a noisy one. The subtle, cool breeze and fresh air converted to the
warm, stale, smoke ridden bar within a single stride. It was like a metaphor: there
he, Fox Wall, was willingly going from a perfect place in his life to a
hazardous environment all for the company of a friend. How quaint.
The single room bar was filled to
the brim, unlike the almost empty mugs and glasses scattering the bar and few
tables. Also, notably unlike the martini glass of the pansy seated at the bar’s
only booth. He was surrounded by young women, and Fox wondered whether the man
was extremely lucky or in the wrong bar. His group didn’t seem to be as rowdy
as everyone else; the game was on. Steelers versus Patriots. Fox’s team against
Billy’s.
Speak of the devil, there was the
back of Billy’s head and beside him an empty seat. Fox made his way past a
puddle of sacrilegious spillage and grabbed Billy’s shoulder while seating himself
next to him. And there in front of him was a mug of Guiness filled to the brim.
My cup overfloweth.
“You just missed kickoff,” Billy
said.
“As I can see.” Fox sipped the foam
off his three layer beer: two parts delicious foam, four parts golden glory,
and one part mixture of concentrated beer, foam, and backwash that Billy called
piss.
“I don’t understand,” Billy said
referring to the foam sipping.
“Get over it,” Fox said. He pulled
the rest of the foam as well as a quarter of the mug.
“Thank god that’s over,” Billy
said.
“Now you have to sit through
Pittsburg owning New England.”
“No, no, but oh god, I have to sit
through this entire game with you drinking more foam. Start your own damn tab.”
~~~
Michael Wallace sat quietly at his
booth with Jamie, Elissa, Jessica, and Hailey, the too-sweet taste of his
virgin daiquiri lingering on his lips, wishing it was the virgin next to him
lingering instead. It was hard to ignore these thoughts as he hid his erection
with his left arm, right hand on his glass. Yes, he wanted Elissa, the only
other minor at the table. But no, he did not want to act on it. Well, he did,
but he wouldn’t. He didn’t want to objectify this jewel, but he couldn’t help
his physiology.
Jessica and Hailey were talking
about their hatred of sports, including, and especially, televised sports.
Michael was paying more attention to how close he was to Elissa’s skin, and in
the background of time’s unraveling he observed the action of speaking and then
drinking:
“I just think it’s stupid to watch
large men destroying each other’s bodies and pocketing millions,” Hailey said,
she drank.
“It’s barbaric,” Jessica said, she
and Hailey drank. Jamie drank. Michael drank. And Elissa drank her Coke.
Michael would have gotten a Coke too, but Jamie and Jessica insisted on the
daiquiri so everyone would think he was a stud. Might have worked if it wasn’t
served in a martini glass.
And Elissa was still sitting next
to him. It wasn’t like she would just disappear, though he wished he could
disappear with her. Go someplace quiet, alone. Alas, this was unlikely: she was
18 and the cousin of Jamie, who was 27, which meant Elissa would leave with
Jamie and not, possibly, Michael. He didn’t want to sleep with her (yes, he
did), but he would have liked to have gotten to know her. Jamie probably would
have been okay with it, actually.
“Excuse me a second,” Elissa said,
motioning politely for him to let her out of the booth.
“I need to use the restroom,
anyway,” he smiled.
He scooted off the bench and she
brushed past him as he let her out. There was the scent of her perfume and, as
he followed her, the shape of her butt. His psychological disposition didn’t
help him from noticing her physiological precision. She went off to the left
and he continued toward the rest room.
~~~
Sarah
Greene sat on the bathroom floor with her hands gripping the rim of the toilet,
feeling green, probably looking green, and knowing there was now a lot of green
in basin of the urinal. Fucking hell.
Oh lord. A man walked in.
“Go away,” she said.
“Sure thing,” he said. But he
didn’t go away. He continued into a closed stall.
“Ugh,” she groaned.
“Pleasant night?” the stall man
inquired.
“Ugh,” she said.
“Yeah? Me too.”
“Sher up,” she slurred.
“Sure thing,” he said. The toiled
flushed.
“Ohh my gaaawd,” she groaned.
She saw his face as he walked past
her toward the sinks. He was gorgeous and he couldn’t have been any older than
she, and she wondered if he had a fake ID too, before adding more green to the
toilet. Fucking hell. He turned on
the water and began to wash his hands. It sounded like bombs were being dropped
and she felt the explosions reverberating in her skull. Please don’t use the blow drier. He grabbed some paper towels from
a dispenser.
“Take care,” he said and left.
“Ugh,” she groaned. Fucking hell.
She must have been in the men’s
restroom for an hour after the gorgeous stall boy left. She didn’t flush the
toilet, but washed her hands and face before leaving. Her mind was slowly
clearing. Very slowly. She stumbled slightly—not because she was beyond drunk,
but because of her goddamn heels—against the wall outside the bathroom. To be
perfectly honest, she was drunk, but not as drunk as her vomiting might
suggest. She had sobered somewhat during her time in bathroom floor solitary.
Desire was the fuel for her sudden
transition to sobriety. It had been an hour, but she wanted to find Stall Boy.
He might have left by this point, and that didn’t matter. He was sarcastic and
attractive and maybe even hot. She knew it was a ridiculous idea. She didn’t
even know what she would do when she found him.
She was outside before she realized
it. The air was cool and the night dark. She didn’t quite remember how she got
there. Maybe she wasn’t as sober as she thought. Why was she even outside? Had she
missed something? She felt shaky. Oh
hell. The world was spinning and she found herself wondering if she was
dreaming.
Sara fell to the sidewalk. She
pushed herself against the brick outer wall of the bar and hugged her knees to
her chest. Everything was a blur and the world wasn’t spinning, she was. She
felt the constant sense of motion, falling and never landing.
“Are you okay?” something said.
“Ugh,” Sara said.
When the something did not reply
she tried opening her eyes. The figure of a man shook before her. She couldn’t
keep him centered but thought it might be Stall Boy. No, Stall Boy wouldn’t give a shit. All she could make out was an
orange shirt and green jacket. Green. And
here came more; she couldn’t hold back her own green.
~~~
It took Alex Foley more than ten
minutes to clean the vomit off his shoes. Luckily it was just on the outside
and none got on his pants. That girl had been very pretty. If only she wasn’t a
drunk. I shouldn’t judge. Fuck it, she
was a drunk. Stupid pretending otherwise.
Alex sat down at the bar and spoke
to the bartender, “Hey Joe, how’s the flow?”
“Pretty slow as far as work goes.”
“Nice.”
“Usual?” Joe asked.
“Yes sir. Thank you sir,” Alex said
in a poor British accent.
Joe filled a glass with Heineken
and placed it in front of Alex, sloshing it onto the bar. Before Alex could say
thank you, Joe turned away to Billy and Fox across the bar. Both of the
regulars were there for the game, of course. Alex had joined their company a
few times, but not tonight. Tonight would just be a relaxing one. Get off of
work, clean puke off his shoes, and enjoy a cold one with the white noise of
the bar. No socializing. No hitting on women, not even the surely underage gal
who enjoyed puking on his kicks. Too bad
she’s drunk. Maybe that’s not a bad thing. No, no. Ugh. Whatever.
Alex glanced up at one of the many
flat screens covering the game. Steelers 31, Patriots 17. He didn’t really care
for either team let alone sports in general. He was there for the environment.
There was something about it that felt like home. It was totally unlike home,
really, but it was a place for his mind. He would sit there and unwind. Drink,
and unwind. Because his apartment, his real home, was not home. No family. No
friends. No girl. And there was nothing to do. There were video games and TV
and writing. But ultimately all he could do was think. And masturbate. Oh, the life I live.
He shook from an image that
appeared in his head, and he didn’t want to dwell on it. So he drank. Joe threw
another glass in front of him, and he drank. This went on for one more drink
before he decided to go to the can. Time for part two of the alcohol delivery
system, and not the alternate part
two where the alcohol exits the entrance onto some bloke’s shoes.
Alex wasn’t eve buzzed yet. He
would need at least two more drinks for that, and he didn’t plan on getting
drunk tonight; although, that’s rarely a conscious decision to be made. I’m becoming fear, and fear is becoming. He
laughed, Yes, quite clever.
In the bathroom there was a
familiar green matter in the bottom and splattering the insides of one of the
urinals. He decided to cleanse it with his beer piss. Specks of green fell
away; he finished, shook, and flushed. He debated skipping the hand washing phase.
So fucking lazy. He washed his hands
and left.
When he opened the door and walked
out, the pretty blonde who puked on him ran into his chest. She bounced back,
shocked.
“You smell good,” she said. Alex
didn’t say anything and waited.
“Sorry about that. And earlier.”
She was still drunk.
“I’ll only be able to overlook it,”
he began, “if you take your top off.” He said it with a smile and a wink to
show as a flirtatious joke.
She moved her small hands to the
bottom of her shirt and lifted it over her head, dropping it in the hallway. Oh shit.
II
“This
game’s not worth watching anymore,” Billy said.
Fox had stopped watching the game a
while ago. He knew his Steelers were winning, but he couldn’t keep his mind off
Lisbeth. He wasn’t drinking anymore, and Billy had probably noticed this
indifference. His third mug, half empty, was now luke warm and out of reach.
Billy seemed to lose interest in the game more and more every time he looked
over at Fox who was staring into space. By this time Billy’s interest was gone
and he just stared at Fox.
Fox was looking at the flat screen,
but not watching the game. He wanted to talk about Lisbeth, and then again he
didn’t. He wanted to forget about it and sink into a deep, ignorant abyss.
Although Fox had not smoked in years, he was craving one now. With all the time
spent with Billy, who smoked between one and two packs a day, he was never
tempted to partake. Billy already had six or seven since Fox arrived.
“I need some air,” Fox said. The
two left their seats and went outside. Billy pulled out a pack of Camels and
before he could put it back in his pocket Fox said, “Let me bum one.”
“Sure,” Billy said and handed him a
cigarette.
Both lit up, sharing Billy’s
lighter, and smoke and silence ensued. Billy finished his while Fox was halfway
through.
“So what is it this time, man?”
Billy asked.
“Same thing it is every time.”
“Yeah, I figured, but why?” Billy
asked.
“Who fuckin’ knows. I don’t know. I
mean, you know what it is. It’s the same goddamn thing it always is.”
“Lisbeth,” Billy said.
“Yeah, fuckin’ Lisbeth. I fuckin’
love her, and she just fuckin’ isn’t there anymore. She’s not the same. She’s
not the girl I married,” Fox took a breath.
“She isn’t a girl anymore, Fox.”
“I fuckin’ know she isn’t. I know.
But still. She’s not even remotely the same.”
“People change.”
“I know people change. I know that.
But how the held did she change so much. It’s ridiculous.”
“You married young, man. You didn’t
give her a chance to settle into herself.”
There was a pause. Both lit up a second
cigarette. Fox breathed the smoke in and out, and his head was buzzing with
words and images and emotions.
“Have you ever thought,” Billy
began, “that maybe she isn’t the only one who changed?”
Chills ran down Fox’s spine. How
had he been so ignorant of himself? He felt the same, sure, but god knows he
wasn’t. He used to be livelier: hobbies, dinners with friends and Lisbeth, road
trips. But he hadn’t lived in so long. He had settled into his own self and was
now distancing himself from Lisbeth and from the truth, and in those things,
from himself.
There was nothing more to say. He
was sure his silence said more than he ever could. But what could he do now?
He’d been pinning everything on his wife the entire time. Could he go back to
the way he was? Would apologizing make things better?
Fox inhaled the last of his
cigarette.
Billy said, “Listen man, you’ll
never be who you were, but you’ll always be who you are.
~~~
Michael
stood looking into Elissa’s hazel eyes. They were no longer seeing the world,
he thought, but seeing only him. As his heart raced he wondered if she thought
the same of him. He felt time slipping away and worried that something might
break their trance. Her eyes soothed his worries and he acted.
He touched her hands with his and followed
her arms to her elbows. He pulled her slightly and leaned his face toward hers.
He saw her lips and she saw his before his eyes closed. He kissed her softly,
taking in her lower lip. They held for a moment and then he pulled back only to
kiss again, his lips parted slightly, her lips parted as well. His lips grabbed
more at her lower lip and he traced his tongue across its outer edge. Her
tongue met his on its second pass.
Michael’s right hand moved from her
elbow to her shoulder and slid down to her middle back. His left followed a
similar path up to the back of her neck. He felt her bra under her shirt with
his thumb and the subtle protrusion of her spine with the rest of his hand. He
massaged her neck feeling the hair under his fingers and brushing over his arm,
and his lips over hers, tasting her tongue and her teeth and her perfectly
imperfect perfume breath.
As his
tongue swam with hers he felt his legs touching hers, his crotch hovering over
hers, and her breasts pressing into his chest. These things were difficult to
overlook, but the exhilaration of her mouth with his, strangely, held all
thoughts at bay. Michael had kissed girls before. Michael had fucked girls
before. Michael had loved before. But what was this? Whatever it was, it was all
that mattered and he wanted more. His jaw pressed into hers and she moaned.
Adrenaline shot through his whole being and he only pressed harder. She bit his
lower lip, another shot of ecstasy. He was pulling her body into his and she
was clawing delightfully at his back. All of this served as a running climax
and they slowed until they had stopped, lips still touching. She hit him gently
with a fist to his cheek. He pulled away somewhat and smiled, and her eyes went
from his to her feet, shyly.
Why is the only thing I can think “I love
you.” That’s stupid. This is dumb. I love this girl. Stupid. Infatuation, kid. You
have to fuck her. Why? Not necessary. All I need is her hand. Why? All I need
is her hand.
His hands
were on her shoulders and he dropped them, taking her hand with one. He kissed
it and then her. She let go of his hand and hugged him tightly. She let go of
this embrace as well and led him back into the bar. His hands were in his
pockets now, hers swinging at her sides. They went to their table and saw that
it was now taken by a different crowd. Looking around, they saw their friends
were no longer present. Elissa reached into her pocket and pulled out her
phone. After a moment she showed the screen to Michael: To: Elissa From: Jamie :: Have fun ;).
She
replaced her phone, took his hand, and, after finding their tab paid, left the
bar. Wow. Shit, this is great. I can’t
just take her back to my place, can I? Jesus, look at those eyes. Of course I
can take her back to my place. But what will we do? Well, you’ve already
resolved not to fuck her, so enjoy your middle school romance and hold her
close, she’ll be gone tomorrow.
~~~
Why
did he make me put my shirt back on? It’s cold out here. Why are we outside?
Where are my friends? Why is he looking at me like that? Oh god, my stomach.
Sara kept looking around and
feeling paranoid at every blurry, blank face that passed by. She was sitting on
a wooden bench outside Blake’s Bar. He said his name is Alex. That’s a nice name. He made her put her
shirt back on and walked her out of the bar. He had so many questions and she
just wanted to disappear into him. Who didn’t want to have sex with Sara? Why
didn’t he want to have sex with her? Was she unattractive? Was it because she puked
on him? Why is he looking at me like
that? She recalled trying to kiss him, but he had dodged her advance and
grabbed her shoulders and sat her down at the bench. When he had sat next to
her, she fell onto his shoulder. Surprisingly, he placed an arm around her and
rocked her slowly.
Who
is this man?
Time passed and neither said a
word. Did she fall asleep? She felt more aware now. Something changed.
Everything wasn’t as blurry. She still had a headache, but her stomach wasn’t
urging to escape through her esophagus. Maybe she was finally sobering up. She
had a glass of water in her hands now, but didn’t remember how it got there or
if she had even drank any of it. It was half full.
“Are you back,” Alex asked.
“I… I dunno.” I think I’m back. “I think so.”
“What happened to you?”
“Party at Matt’s… Linda and
Michelle… bar hopping. Why didn’t they cut me off?”
“Good fucking question.”
“And why are you here?” Sara asked.
“I have nowhere else to be,” he
said staring at the ground. He hadn’t looked at her yet.
“Did I take my shirt off?”
“Umm. Well, yes. Sorry.”
“Sorry?”
“I might have told you to. But I
was joking, you were drunk.”
“Am drunk.”
“Are drunk,” he said. “What’s your
story, Sara?” He knew her name. How much had she said so far? This is ridiculous.
“I’m never getting this drunk
again,” Sara said.
“That’s what they all say. Anyway,
it’d be a good idea not to.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’m waiting,” he said.
“Right,” she started. “I don’t
know. I could come up with a million reasons as to why I’m like this.”
“Well, not quite what I asked, but
go on. What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that I just drank way
too much. And that I’ve put myself in danger in so many ways by coming out here
and doing so. And having friends that just leave me lying in the men’s
bathroom.”
Alex listened.
“I don’t even know why I went to
those parties, or why I’ve been drinking. I’m not even of age to drink.
Bartenders don’t care what you show them as long as it looks like an ID. I
didn’t used to be like this. I’ve changed somewhere along the way and I don’t
even know why I’m telling you this.”
Alex laughed quietly, but didn’t
say anything.
“I’ve been thinking this a lot.
And—wow, this headache is ridiculous… not going to enjoy waking up
tomorrow—anyway, I’ve been thinking about this change thing, and I’ve only been
able to think of it in this one way. It’s not very conclusive, but here it is:
I feel like a million people making decisions for one body over periods of
time.”
“Clever,” he said. More time
passed. She fell asleep again, but after asking Alex for the time, she
discovered only ten minutes had passed. She didn’t know this man, and she
wasn’t going to bother him any further, so she decided to call a cab.
~~~
Alex continued to sit on the same
bench outside of Blake’s long after Sara left. He did go back inside for one
more bottle of beer, but chose to sit outside and reflect. Normally he would
reflect inside the bar with all of its buzzing and random ramblings. Because of
Sara, though, silence and cold were his current preference. He would go home to
his lonely apartment soon, but for now he wished to avoid that as much as
possible.
Another image flashed within his
mind: the flower set on his windowsill, dead. He shook again. Why did these
things make him shake? Melodramatic. Just
a bit. But he couldn’t help that, or at least he didn’t believe it was
something he could help.
Sara’s drunken musings were
weighing heavily on his mind. He knew exactly how she felt. Not the why, but
the feeling itself. Did he feel like the same person he was yesterday? Yes and
no. Yesterday was a different Alex than today; ten minutes ago Alex was a
different Alex than now. But he was still just plain old Alex. No shit. Somehow he managed to skip the
regret of not taking advantage of that beautiful blonde who wasn’t old enough
to drink but certainly old enough to fuck. You’re
thinking about it now.
His mind went back to memories. Not
only was it a different version of himself in each memory, but it was a
different story. But how accurate could each story be? He thought about her, and how many times were the actions
and words and feelings just lies told by the past? Can you really say every
memory is true? It’s just a collection of lies. Did he love her? Did she love him? Was that book from middle school really still his
favorite, or had he clung to it from a sense of nostalgia? Not just these
things, but everything; everything he could ever remember felt like an illusion, a false tale. They were all true, yes, but were they exactly how he
remembered them? No. Probably not at all.
All
the good memories fade until all I have left is seeing myself become the
monster from which I meant to defend.
Touché,
sir. Oh yes, how clever.
There were cars driving by, music
as well as a myriad of conversations being had within the bar, people walking
past, and the cold breeze stinging his ears. The only thing that stirred him
from his thoughts was the sound of sirens coming from a distance. He could tell
by the patterns and pitch that it was the sound of a police car and not an
ambulance or fire engine. Who was it making a mistake? What was their mistake,
and how unlike him were they really? Whoever it was, whatever it was, he or she
was just an embodiment of thousands of souls vying for control, just like him.
He tossed his beer into the trash
and began to walk home.
III
Fox took his shoes and coat off and
set his keys on the kitchen counter. He started up the stairs to the bedroom
when he heard Lisbeth say his name. He didn’t say anything in reply.
“Fox?” she said somewhat worriedly.
He opened the bedroom door and
said, “Yes, it’s just me.”
“You could answer next time,” she
said. He took off his socks, his shirt, and his pants, and then crawled into
bed behind her. He tried lying behind her and put his arm around her.
“Fox, you’re cold!” she said. He
started to cry.
“Fox?” she said with the same
worried voice. She turned over to face him. She put her hands on his face.
“Fox, what’s wrong, honey?” But Fox couldn’t say anything.
“Come here,” she said and pulled
his head into her chest. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” She hadn’t used these
names for him in so long.
“I love you,” he whispered. He was
scared when she didn’t say it back, but he heard her begin to cry too.
“I’m so sorry, Fox,” she whispered.
“Whatever it is, I’m sorry.” And he continued to cry.
“I love you,” she said and kissed
the top of his head many times.
Fox calmed down as she ran her
hands through his hair and caressed his face. She was kissing him on the lips
and saying, “It’s okay.”
“I’m sorry,” he said after a few
moments.
“What for, love?”
“I don’t know. For everything. I
love you,” he said.
“I love you, too,” she said.
“I miss you.”
“I miss you, too.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
~~~
Everything was dark and Michael had
no idea how any of this was real. In fact, in the darkness, he wasn’t sure it
was real. But then he moved his thumb over Elissa’s hand. He held her hand as
he held her there, in his bed, in his apartment, in this strange and currently
perfect universe. She was asleep now, but how would he ever be able to? This
was too perfect. They just met, they made out, they came to his home, and they
got into his bed. And why were they in his bed? To sleep! He managed to keep
himself from losing control. Maybe she wanted to sleep with him in the
non-literal sense, too, but it didn’t matter. Somehow he knew she would be okay
with just this. And this was just perfect.
Could it so simply end on this
note?
Finally, he fell asleep.
There were dreams, and there were
nightmares. He saw each one vividly, and when he woke up with her still in his
arms he was not sure that she wasn’t a dream. But she wasn’t. Would she be here
when he would wake up? It didn’t even matter. All that mattered was then and
now, and then was perfect, and now was perfect, and starting at sunrise he
would make sure that later would be perfect, too. He would hold onto Elissa for
as long as he could.
And again, he fell asleep.
~~~
Sara slept outside her locked dorm
room. The girls clearly got back before she did, and she didn’t have her keys.
She knocked, but no one answered. She called cell phones, and no one answered.
She wasn’t sure if it was a dream…
But there was a boy. He crouched beside her and said, “You need a place to stay
for the night?” Everything was blurry. Was she still asleep? “It comes with a
price,” he said. There was a blur of motion and darkness and her cheek in a
pillow as a ghost moved into her. And what was there to remember again?
~~~
The music resonated more than any other aspect of Alex’s
memories. The slow piano notes forging an intro and pulling him into a
forgotten nirvana. The hairs on his arms rose with the slow crescendo. There
was an emotion there. The notes in his mind rose to a maximum forte and welled
tears in his eyes. The decrescendo calmed him and the memories came to a rest
just before a tear slid out and down his cheek.
Why. Why am I still here? How long
has it been?
Do
you even remember?
Two
years and…three months. Two months. Yes. Or… Yes, that’s right. Two years and
two months. Whose pity am I looking to obtain? There’s no one around. Is this
self-pity? Am I so far gone that I’ve split myself in two and need the comfort
of my inner voice?
Yes.
Ha ha. What more would you expect?
But
this is ridiculous.
Is
it?
She
broke up with me more than two years ago and I’m still in this pitiful state.
So
get over it already. Find a new girl. Dime-a-dozen, you know.
Shut
up. I fucking hate you.
Yeah,
yeah. Hate you too, you pitiful prick.
Tears heavy now as he blinked them
out.
Wipe
them away. You look like a melodramatic pansy-pants letting them get so far.
Grow up.
He wiped away the tears on his
shirt sleeve. Some gathered at his lips and he licked them, tasting the salt.
He wiped his lips with his forearm and brushed the wetness away with his hand.
He flicked his eyes around the room
for a moment before landing them back on the sight of the dead orchid plant.
Dead. How did it die? He had nurtured it.
To
death, apparently.
Dammit.
The orchid. It was a plant she
owned before she left. He took it in memory of her, and now it was dead. He
looked to this as a metaphor of hope. The flower had died just has his hope for
anything to work out with her. But metaphors aren’t perfect. He still had hope,
even if it was the tiniest sliver. Maybe the orchid still had a sliver of life
left.
No, that would be stupid. Would he
really try to nurture back to life something that was already dead? Oh, look,
another metaphor. Could life be this mundane?
Could
you be any more pathetic? Of course life is this mundane. It’s all mundane.
I’ll tell you what. You need to go out and live a little. I mean it.
And
do what? What am I going to do?
Go
to a bar. I don’t know.
I
was just at a goddamn bar, asshole.
Sounds
like you just need some friends, bud.
Thanks.
And where were his friends? Didn’t
matter. Everything was money and work and money. And more work and more money.
One screwed up distraction. There was nothing for him. All purpose flew out the
window when the only thing you wanted was to love and be loved. So much for
being loved. Someone could love this miserable boy of a man, right?
Riiiiiight.
Alex sighed in response to the
thought.
All over a useless plant.
By MFW III
