[scribble] untitled
It was sweet. It stung at first but then slowly turned into the taste of honey. My throat hurt. It was so real that for one second, I almost believed my existence.
The tingles.
Do I exist?
Another drink, another round of the tingles.
Am I going to fuck up today?
It messed with my head. The stripes on the bar wall turned into swirls of different colors. I'd promised my lovely wife that I wouldn't do this, yet here I am.
I love her. I never loved anyone or anything as much as I did her.
Yet here I am.
It got sweeter. Sweeter than Adam's words of defense.
You just can't remember that you are an actual person that exists in this world when you've been drifting on a small raft, with a Down Syndrome kid, on the Atlantic Ocean, for too fucking long. It kinda fucked you up. You just wanted to feel something again, you've got to.
So here I am.
Sounds like the biggest slice of bullshit you'd ever hear in your whole friggin' life, huh?
Those bullshit excuses actually worked for me.
She said good night, kissed me on the cheek twice, and left.
She wore a yellow T-shirt, black tight jeans, and an undo. Her breasts looked beautiful, I could see the shapes and marks of her bra under the shirt. Her jeans were so tight I almost felt sorry for her.
She asked me how I managed to keep myself so extreme, passionate and committed all the time. Her voice was soft as cloud. I laughed and told her that it was a secret.
"Didn't that burn you up?"
"Didn't that hurt?"
I had 2 burgers and a big slice of pie. And I'm still so hungry.
She watched me eat. She threw her head back laughing like a little kid at my jokes. She had crab legs and some other things that looked like rabbit food.
I had an impulse to knock on her door to ask if she wanted to get rid of those fucking jeans and just come with me, get out of the city and to the beach, we could run, far, far away from those jeans that tied her up so tight. Her sandy hair would look so free in the Savannah salty wind.
Another drink.
Eventually I decided not to do that. I took a turn. I strolled down a street. The night wind was warm. I walked into a bar.
There won't be any noir story.
Tingles ran all over my tongue. Tingles travelled. Tingles landed on my fingers. The scar on my left middle finger jumped.
I ordered another bond. The swirls on the wall got blurred, turned red. It burned me up. It hurt. I shouted out, "IT DOES!" and then heard someone catching a photo on his/her cellphone. Flashlight blinded my eyes for a split second.
Who am I?
Tyler? The Hollywood star? The internet meme? or ME?
Do I even exist?
I stood up and walked to the door. I heard a girl laughing. I have never had such a strong feeling that I need a cigarette right fucking now. I felt suffocated. I need warm wind. I need to be free.
The warm wind had become cold. A 24/7 supermarket window said it was already 4am.
A white man stood by the door. He took a long drag of his cigarette, the red dot flickered.
I heard someone catching a photo on his/her cellphone.
The rage ran all over my eyes. The rage travelled. The rage landed in my chest.
The rage burned me up.
The rage hurt.
I threw a punch. I spilt out profanity words.
I got up and ran. I stumbled. Must've been the drinks, I thought to myself. I heard Cops' siren screaming behind me.
Wind stung the scars on my face. It fucking hurt. I laughed out loud on the street. The wind spread it far, far away. The air slowly turned into the taste of honey.
I need to be free.
-
This is not me defending him.
I just...how can there be anyone who's so romantic and dramatic and brave and genuine and free? I fucking can't.