It’s about 1155 when I wake up; throw some sweat pants, which used to be Jack Wills, on. The brand has washed off. Catch a glimpse of my abs in the mirror, still there, just. Check my voice mail, nothing, check my other voice mail, nothing. Watch some day time tv with the sound on, watch some day time tv with the sound off. Have a cigarette on the balcony in the drizzle.
At 1505 I decide now would probably be a good time to start the day. Take a wander to a homewear store, look for new champagne flutes, since I lost all mine to washing up. Nothing. Contemplate a drink, pretend I no longer drink, walk to the water front, and sit staring at the people, at the river, the ant that is crawling across the yellow, piss stained pavement. End up in a cocktail bar, Vodka Colins, Stoli is the weapon on choice today.
End up in the mall. Just stare walking, that kind of walk you do when there is nothing else to do, but you are looking for something to do. From the third floor I imagine someone pushing me over the edge of the railing. My legs turn weak. Look for my friends’ books in the book store, nothing. Contemplate buying Breakfast At Tiffany’s. Decide a female protagonist doesn’t take my fancy, wonder what people might say. Look at books I read as a child. Walk past a shitty tattoo parlor where an acquaintance of mine gets inked. I’ve always thought they were shit. Stare at my reflection.Stubble face, gum in mouth, rounded detail of my hair. Stone Chinos, Grey winter T-shirt, Grey unbranded hooded sweat, brown leather belt with the numbers 1967 which I’ve try to scratch off. End up in the toilets, contemplate jacking off just for the fun of it. Piss. Leave.
Walk past a underwear shop in the old arcade. I've been offered free stuff there. Probably because the owner fancies me. He isn't in, which is probably for the best, I've given up on my CK 365s .Run up a sixty pound tab in a cocktail bar; tell the waitress every single function of every single button on her till. Smoke a cigarette as the sky starts to turn, night and rain falling. Don’t pay the tab.
Meet a friend, in a lounge bar by the water front, candles on the table, cask ales. No Vodka, No drink. Someone’s birthday. A live band starts to set up. Call you in the morning, hit the land line. No one uses iPhones anymore. Stare at the sign on the back of the toilet door "And they lived...happily ever after" contemplate jerking off.
2 comments:
You're one of a handful of beautiful, talented men i know who always seem to be alone, though you've so much to offer. I can only attribute this to confusion on the part of the great unwashed. I suppose the assumption is that anyone so talented, witty and good looking must have too many admirers to bother with.
Either that or you have hellacious foot odor.
There's a mystery in it, I reckon.
You were looking at your reflection in the mirror, not once but twice! Something that you'd like to improve, or perhaps add something to your wardrobe? Either way, hope you find what you're looking for. Hope for the best and perhaps you'll find it! Take care! - V
Post a Comment