I am waking up. Or rather, I can’t sleep. It’s almost two o’clock in the morning. I can imagine what I look like, were someone to creep into my cramped 6 floor walk up. I’m sweaty, naked, dried cum staining my underwear. A real peach of a picture. I get up, and go to the bathroom, rinse my face. I’m older than I think I should look. Jesus, was I always this…ragged? My stubble has gotten past the point of casual insouciance and is too short to be a beard.
I look like a hobo.
My pale skin is practically translucent in this light. Why did I get energy efficient bulbs in here? Clearly the earth can take a few more btu’s, right?
My mind races to a shitty joke I told last week: You know why energy efficient bulbs last so long? Because they’re too ugly to turn on. I’m a real comedian, huh.
I grab a pair of jeans off the floor, along with a t-shirt. Maybe I should grow a beard. Or at least a mustache. Maggie says that men wear their feelings on their face. As in, you can tell a man in trouble, or out of relationship, because he gets creative with his facial hair. I agree with her. It’s a good way to denote change. Something tangible.
I walk out of my apartment. This part of Soho is quiet now. Only a few people on the street, a smattering of cabs. Never a cab when I want one, but at 2 something in the morning when I’m home already, they all want to stop for me.
I go into the bodega. There is a young kid at the counter. Barely paying attention to me. I think briefly about stealing some gum. Why did I think that? What’s wrong with me? I’m 43 years old, and I want to steal gum. Jesus.
A young couple comes into the store. They are wrapped up tight, even though it’s 80 degrees. She clearly loves him. Is doting on him. He smiles when she kisses him on the side of his neck. He has no idea how lucky he is. I think briefly about punching this guy. I need coffee.
It’s a terrible idea, but I’m going to do it anyway. I can feel something about to happen. I don’t know what it is. But if I wait, and drink this miserable dreck, maybe I’ll be prepared when it does.
(author’s note: I feel like this 15 minute freewrite is about to be a gum shoe story! Sweet!)
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