August night

Posted: January 2, 2013 in Uncategorized

She sat next to me. In order to haunt me. Her perfumated hormonal scent, her dangling jewellery. Her starving body all bones and straight lines, was the perfect container for the bad taste she owned – just like her coiffured, pierced, plastered and painted head was the perfect enclosure for her vacuous little brain. And, with a matching boyfriend right next to her. Mostly absorbed by staring his manicurated upper limbs or chasing his reflection on the several shiny surfaces most of the time ignorant of the fact that it was his; a cat fighting its own image on the mirror. They never exchanged more than five words between them. Most of the time they were busy texting or emailing or calling other people on their mobile devices – tweeting to their clan, announcing that their flatulence finally subsided after last night’s takeaway.

I am drinking, heavily but still sober. I had not overcome my previous encounter with the other woman. At the supermarket. I was walking aimlessly when I saw her picking a fruit yoghurt. Tall, fresh, radiant. Carpe diem impersonated. Blond hair tied back on her head, her tits mostly showing for all of us to see. I followed her for a while. She noticed me much later when she tried to sneak some chocolate into her shopping basket and looked around for prying eyes. I talked to her. I told her she was beautiful, that I felt an enormous force inside me pushing me to tell her I needed her to be next to me – a force of overpowering effect which made my jaws move up and down but what came out of my mouth was basic stereotype.

You are so beautiful that I felt I had to ask you for lunch – although you plan to eat that fruit yoghurt obviously. But stop for a minute and reconsider. Your beauty will haunt me for weeks to come. You are exactly why boys sob in pre-pubity at the late late hours of the night and if they are lucky, Mum comes to comfort them, uncombed, with tits showing through her summer nighty.

You are weightless and aethereal and you should really consider having lunch with me because I have so many things to tell you starting with the late late hours of the summer night that I sobbed in my sleep and Mum came to say all is well and kissed me tenderly.

I am squashed by your beauty and your rejection. The fact that all the idiots are watching. Me and you. The soap opera. You are so beautiful, aethereal, weightless. It would not surprise me that you do not need to eat or breathe. You don’t belong to this lowly dimension. You come from a distant Universe. A supreme existence who happened to cross paths with me because of some bizarre quantum effect.

I was squashed by my defeat – confessing to a lovely stranger in a cheap supermarket among bums, bimbos, homeless, shoplifters. In front of the obedient paying queue, in front of the robot tellers and supervisors. Idiots swiping nectar cards, earning bonus points.

Cling, clang, beep beep, cling clang, beep beep.

I confess. I am here. The end of the journey which started that August night. Sobbing in my sleep. Under the constellations and the falling stars. I wet my Mum’s nighty with salty tears – which I tasted and so she did when she kissed my nose, then my eyes and said:

All is well now. Goodnight dear boy.

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