I woke up really late. The alarm was skipped for the past two hours, waking me up with its constant buzzing, only for me to fall asleep. It is Saturday, 0811 hours. For a second, I wanted to close my eyes again, to fall back asleep, to not stand up and haul my pitiful mass of scales, blood and flesh, all across my apartment, in hopes of passing through this day yet again. But I understand – only a dead man or a freelance artist sleeps until midday, and since I'm neither of these things (sadly), I need to wake up. To be a burden on someone else's existence. I get out of the bed and make my way to the bathroom. This time I've managed to take off my clothes before falling asleep. I guess they are on the floor in all the dust. Whatever. I turn on the cold water and immediately wake myself up with a handful of it straight into my face. Then I turn off the water, wipe my face with a towel and leave the bathroom, back into my room. I collect my clothes, scattered all around the room, then to dress up, as the rooms are still cold. God damn the services and their habit of turning the heat that late into the season. After I get my second skin onto me, I take my phone and walk into the kitchen. After filling up the kettle and settling it to boil, I check my phone for any messages, revealing a simple truth – nothing. The only social media app shows me the life I will never get. Then I tap into the bank app… Straight away I noticed the deposit. I could pay for my rent. And buy myself something. I should celebrate this. And what is a better place for celebration than an actually good diner not so far away? The kettle clicks, notifying me. I look at it, and strangely don’t feel like drinking tea at all. The thought of celebrating getting a scholarship turned the thought of the proper start of the day into dust. But then my routine kicks in, and I suddenly get a strange feeling in my guts. As if something in this cog system decided to finally give up, thus stopping everything else. No, this is not what I want. I leave my phone on the table, take a step to the counter, get my mug and a teabag, drop the second inside the first and pour some steaming hot water in. After that, I drop a small spoon inside and walk over to my window, to open it and let the cold air inside, and also to take the first smoke of the day. The first papieros always feels weird. Instead of that drunk friendliness and bitter warmth, it is cold, hostile even. As if this first papieros didn’t want to be smoked at this time of day. But I smoke it anyway, the feeling of cold outside and inside brushing my mind clean. No matter the cold, it feels nice to empty my head, so I could get at least some priorities straight. After the papieros, or what was left of it, ends up tossed outside (straight onto the cracked pavement), I closed the window and walked back to my mug, filled with disgusting black tea. With a swift move I take out a scorching hot spoon and throw it into the metallic sink, creating the most petrifying sound on this barren earth.Then I take a seat and, after a few seconds of sudden contemplation, look inside the mug, watching my wobbling reflection on the surface. My murky self. What is there to notice? My dead eyes? My emo-like haircut? My crests? I've seen all that before many, many times, and there’s no need to stare at it all again. I take a sip. It’s still hot, but cool enough not to burn my tongue. There is barely any steam, so neither is the outside of my face getting burned. I take another sip. My stomach fills with warmth, which casts out the cold of the first morning smoke brewing inside my lungs. I take yet another sip, draining the cup. I throw out the tea bag and toss it into the empty bin underneath the sink, landing a three pointer. I step outside the kitchen into the bathroom to take a piss, then go out, into the hallway and to the front door. I quickly put my boots on, then check each and every pocket for anything I may have missed and, making sure that I didn’t miss anything, I leave the apartment, onto the cold streets. They are the same. With all the trash, all the torn and worn buildings, rare strangers following their avaricious desires, with the overcast sky and its gray patterns, with all the dreams and thoughts, abandoned in a desolate alleyway – with all the still death and lifeless advance, it all is the same. Nothing would change this place. Only eradication and recreation. I walk away from my apartment complex, as far away as my legs allow me. Soon, my home district was behind my back, growing smaller and smaller with each and every second I walked away from it. This action has only two sides: for one, I don’t have to spend the rest of my day in the shackles of my own apartment, but for two, some time later I still have to return into its toxic wasteland hug, giving in to my darkest thoughts. I shake away my head, trying to get this out of the cranium. The atmosphere of the district, the streets of which I was currently crossing, helped me – I felt a bit warmer inside my chest, saw a beautiful baby color building far away (a gallery, maybe?) and smelled a bakery nearby. I walked and walked, until I stopped and turned my head to look at the bakery. The smell of bread, cupcakes and other pastry is ecstatic and vibrant. I want to ditch my idea about getting some fastfood – the bakery looked too good for me to pass. I gave the thought a couple more seconds to live inside my brain – more than enough for me to think about it. I would regret my actions much, much later. I step inside. It’s warmer on every single level. The emptiness feels out of place, I thought this place would be packed. The walls, the ceiling and the floor are all painted in a way the previous century did, giving me, a youngster, some kind of a phantom nostalgia. I walk over to the counter and spot a cashier. A young triceratops, with no life in his eyes and with a head that both packed a lot of thoughts and packed a lot of punch. He looked at me, waiting for me to say what I wanted. His look was out of any alacrity, this absence of zeal made me think he actually hates the job, the placement, the interior, the exterior and me, the stranger, at the same time, but I feel that he tries desperately to show that he actually cares, in a good way, about everything above. I chose some random big and cheap pastry, used my debit card, tossed it into one out of many coat’s pockets, took the bag, thanked the cashier and left. A warm word out of my cold mouth to his cold being – I think I made him smile. Now I’m again on the streets, this time with a bag of pastry. It’s one gigantic thing packed with calories for me to survive two days in a row. It doesn’t even fit in the bag properly! The bag is smaller than the pastry! Wow, just wow. I dive into this little meal, tearing a piece out of it like an animal I am. Thanks to my snout and the sharp, shark-like, spikes my teeth are, I finish the pastry in two bites, filling up my stomach with sugar and warmth of the fresh bread. This warmth in question made me think about calling it a day and returning back home. I know for sure that the meal I’ll pick in a diner, no matter how greasy and delightful it’ll be, – it just won’t deliver what this piece of bread at some local bakery in the middle of bumfuck nowhere did. But still, going back home means spending so much time in a still position even the Buddhist monks would ask me for a cigarette and a piece of advice on how to get so static and immovable. I put my foot down in this dilemma – I should spend as much time outside my desolate home as I possibly could. First part of it was already achieved, and I’m far, far from the district. Now, part two – a proper celebration of receiving my huge ass scholarship. I went away from the bakery, in search of a diner. At first I was looking for a proper place with a proper service and proper meals, but the more time I spent outside, freezing my snoot, my ears and my balls off, the more I was desperate to find at least a shitty place with revolting food and outstandingly bad service, just for the sake of spending my time. I could go to a literal alleyway if it would be dressed as a diner – that was the level of desperation I never reached before. Hell, I don’t think my nicotine addiction got me hooked so bad as just searching for a little place where I could eat. But the warmth inside, as the pastry was digesting, kept me going. The fire of “I’m so back” was burning brighter than the fire of “it’s so over” around me. And soon I found it, the place of my desire. The diner shined amidst all the gray concrete. Its windows were so clean, I could see individual people inside, standing across the road from it. Most of them are young, anticipating a bright future ahead of themselves. Cashiers inside, seen only in a tiny moment, look actually alive, smiling genuinely. And before I step onto the road to cross it and get to that diner, I begin to doubt my actions yet again. As if once I didn’t decide everything properly. The same thoughts and perspectives came for a rebuttal. A rebuttal that only lasted for a second, as my foot landed on the black road asphalt. I made my way across and stepped inside. Everything was alive, everything shined with prescribed voluntarism. This is my place to be, strangely enough. I look around and spot four identical interactive menus. I walk over there and tap onto the screen, turning the machine on. With a slow pace, thorough thinking and decisive actions, I make myself an order. Man, I love these things. Keeps me away from all the society, standing all by myself. I always notice the sudden changes in my attitude, but can’t really explain them. At one point, I feel rather optimistic about myself, at the other – unbearably and even painfully dreadful. It isn’t anything even remotely close to bi-polar disorders, since I’m able to catch and manage it, but I still feel strange when it happens. Just like now. Soon, the order is done. Topped to the deck with sheer heart attack inducing food. Of course, as many special offers as possible. Even used some of my points I built up from before. I finish the order and receive my check with a number of my order. A couple seconds later, it appears on the screen above the counter, behind which is a chaotic kitchen, with a lot of movement and electrical beeping of oil fryers. I stand near the counter, a couple steps away from it, and wait. Sometimes, a nice young lady comes to the counter with a bag or a tray filled with food, then calls out the order number; a bit later, a person with the order number appears and, thanking the service, leaves with his dosage of the apogee of absurd capitalism. Sometimes I look down at the check, always thinking to myself: “How the fuck am I going to eat all of that?” Oh well, that’s an issue for a different minute. I am too immersed into observing the chaotic dance in the kitchen, so much that I don’t notice someone taking me by my hand. I startle and sharply turn my head, to face the person who just did that to me. Showing a cheeky smile, with all love in her purple eyes, Sera doesn’t feel even a slight sliver of guilt. She even giggles a bit, like a cartoon criminal who got away with a devious crime. — Don’t scare me like that, – I say. — I couldn’t miss the opportunity, – she responds. I simply nod and turn my head back to the counter. She, it seems, looks down onto the check in my hand, reads something out of it, then asks me: — How are you going to eat all of that? There’s, like, food for a family of three. — I got my scholarship, and I want to celebrate it. — Ooh… Right… – she pauses for a few seconds, then looks at me with an ire in her eyes. – I also ordered some food too! Soon, the lady comes in yet again, with two bags of food and calls out my order. I come, take the bags, thanking the lady, and, after a bit of searching, find myself an empty table. I open one of the bags and take out a big, fat, loaded burger, soon to be joined by Sera, holding a tray with a petite order. We delve into eating and talking. We don’t even care about the food filling our mouths. We have our own frequencies. — So… What are your plans for this weekend? – Sera began. — Eh, nothing unusual, just typical bullshit, – I say, tiresome. – Go here, go there… Other things… — Are you planning to attend the flatshow? — Why, of course. Seems fun to me. — I thought about attending it too… but only with you.~ “Damn, girl, calm down, we’re in a public zone”, – I barely said this thought out loud. I think if I did, I’d be dead by tomorrow. My response to her flirting is a simple nod. — And what are you going to do after? – Sera asks again, possibly: morbidly curious. — After what, this meal? – She nods, which makes me think for a second, but only for a second, because I already know the answer: – Nothing. Her face is surprised, then sorrowful, as if I hurt her with that. — That’s your plan for today? – she asks. — Not only for today. But for tomorrow too. Because I don’t fucking know what to do with myself before the show even comes around. Silence. I bite into the burger, look outside, and feel her hand grabbing mine. — How about you… and me… go to my place? – she asks. Her voice is filled with lust yet again. I look at her sideways, not turning my head away from the streets. Then it clicks. Studying. Yeah. Studying . Something from yesterday tells me it’ll be more. A philosophical discussion? An involuntary anatomy check? Or just fucking around until Miss Trish comes around? So many possibilities… Still, she’s waiting for an answer. And since there’s not much to do, and since I don’t want to be a dick, I say: — Yes. Her face gleams. One part of her plan is crossed out. One out of seventy-two, from today and straight into the future ten years out. My stomach was full, and I only ate the smaller bag that had only a couple of things out of the massive order. I look over Sera’s tray – it also has something left. I came up with a compromise: place everything in one bag and carry it to her home to eat in the meantime. She’s quick on agreeing, placing the remainders into my bag. We clean the table after ourselves and leave the diner. She calls for a taxi. Couple of minutes later, the black sedan, courtesy of a grimy silent driver in a white jacket, peels out of a corner of the distant building and stops right near us. We get inside, taking the back seats. The moment I close the door, the driver presses the pedal. He got this like he was born a driver. He got this like the only thing he does is driving. For this ride, both of us are silent. Nothing much to say here. I look into the window, not thinking much, enjoying the view. Sera does her own things. Maybe look into the window, maybe search for something online. I feel her hand touch mine again. I didn’t pay much attention to it, since she did that before. The next second I hear her shifting in the seat. Now she sits near me. Her tail slowly makes its way around me, as my hand is still being held. With a sideways glance I look at the back mirror, only to notice the driver looking back at me, smiling approvingly. Only if he knew… Soon, the car stopped, and we got out. First look around: a nice neighborhood, with nice little houses, which nice little windows look at me maliciously. I know I’m not supposed to be here, but what could I do being dragged by a gal, who clearly has more in her mind than what she shared with me? As I reach her house, spotted from afar, I feel something letting go of me, as if giving up on trying to get me out of this situation, leaving me to that succubus. Please let me reroll, I don’t like my nat one. We take a sharp turn and enter her household. From the get go: it is nice, tidy, and welcoming. Unlike my place. We take our shoes off and walk further into her house. Despite everything I’ve said before, the emptiness and sheer silence make this nice place seem… horror-like. As if something excruciatingly bad will happen either to me, to Sera or to both of us. Nice places, when empty, always give out this kind of vibe. We go up, onto the second floor, and straight into her room. Typical girl bedroom: a huge ass bed, a table, some other miniscule and uninteresting things… I’ve seen it many times before, this time is no different from all the others. The only window opens a view onto the backyard. Sera sits down and then just flops onto the carpet flooring. Her position is… well, to say the least, intimidating and inviting in its feminine vulnerability. “Say what?”, I thought to myself, as this crossed my mind. She looks at me, standing still like a statue, looking down at her with nothing behind my eyes. She groans, not liking my stillness. — Just flop onto the floor! – she says. For a second I considered just falling down, but then I remembered how much I value my snout and crest, and decided to slowly descend onto the floor near her. For an immaculate amount of time, we both just stare into the blank ceiling, where the fan, slowly spinning in its loneliness and dust, is our only means of entertainment. — What do we do now? – I ask, breaking the silence. She looks at me, quite tired. — I don’t know… – she responds. — I thought I came in here for studying and shit, – I say, nonchalantly. — Come on, it’s not always about studying, – she says, resented like a little girl. – Sometimes it’s just about spending time together. I don’t respond to that. Suddenly, Sera shifts, at first moving closer to me, but then she just, out of all things, gets on top. Her hands press against my ribcage. She looks down, asking for something. Her ginormous chest hangs above me like the second coming of Raptor Jesus. I don’t respond to that either. She smiles, squeaks a bit, like a toy, and tightly hugs me. I can’t get a read on you, Sera, I really can’t. — It seems that your life always takes a turn when I’m around, – I say. She exhales, and then softly whispers in my ear: — It always does.~ “Now that’s a good fucking start”, I think. All of a sudden, I feel her lips pressing against my neck. The weird warmth spreads around. My entire body feels like twisting around, but I’m still as stone. With a swift move of her light hand she unzips my coat. Her hand gets underneath my shirt, placed onto my warm chest, right where my gigantic heart beats, keeping the machine functioning. I couldn’t keep my shit upright when a girl was planting kiss after kiss onto my neck, awaiting my response. I had to act. And so I did: my hand slowly crawled underneath her shirt, my lips returned a couple of kisses back. Suddenly, a shift: now I was above her, and she was down on the floor, prepared for everything. Our eyes met, and our mouths… They never connected. In fact, they didn’t even draw closer, not even an atom. I heard a loud thump at the front door. My instincts kicked in, I looked back at the closed door into her room, and swiftly got up onto my feet. I quickly grabbed and got my coat onto me and checked my pants (they were up on me and completely fine). Sera didn’t stand around too: she fixed her t-shirt and sat down onto her bed. I sat near her. Miss Trish opened the door wide open and looked inside. Immediately noticing her own daughter and her own daughter’s lover. — Oh, hello, Greene! – she says in her casual friendly tone. I nod to her. I was afraid to say a word – because I knew my voice would crack and give out something. Miss Trish looked around the room. ­— You’ve just arrived? Are you hungry? – she asks. — No, I’m fine, thanks. I ate in the diner before coming around, – I responded, trying to look as calm as possible. She nods, then leaves me and Sera alone, closing the door behind herself. We were alone, but we weren’t calm – that interruption of something we would give our entire souls to, that unfinished action drew tension, making the silence deafening. Sera, startling, hugged me tightly. I looked at her, – Sera’s face was bursting with guilt. — I’m sorry… I… I don’t know what got onto me, – she said, on the verge of crying. Now that would draw unnecessary attention. I hugged her back. — Don’t beat yourself over it, – I say, trying to calm her down. She exhales, shaking, draws back from me and looks into my face. Still ashamed. — I knew you didn’t want to… but I did anyway… I’m sorry, Greene… ­— I said, don’t beat yourself over it, – I replied. — I can’t… It happens all the time. My mind is dazed when you’re near, and I just can’t act normally anymore. My mind is always… foggy with scenes and such, and… it’s fucking revolting, but I feel pleasure imagining them… I can’t control it… God fucking dammit, what do I say here? I don’t know how to calm her down. She’s so close to breaking down. It makes me worry, a lot. Feeling worry was always weird for me. As if out of all emotions and feeling that died off, leaving only slabs and illusions to show to the people, so they don’t try to know how fucked up I am, worry and anger always stood, like the strongest warriors against the tide. Something kicks in (sense of self-preservation?), and I hug her, as tightly as I could. — I am still here, alright? I didn’t run off, did I? – I say. – Everything is fine, Sera. – I withdrew from her, to look into her eyes. – Just forget about it, will you? She nods. Inside, I draw a huge sigh of relief. Miss Trish comes in, and I freeze, like a deer in headlights. My hands are placed onto Sera’s arms, my eyes are locked, looking away from her a bit, and I can’t move a single inch. Adrenaline begins to boil, clogging inside my throat and ears. The world around me muffles. This goes on for a few seconds, until I feel Sera getting out of my grasp. I turned back into reality, shook my head a couple of times, to get the adrenaline out, and, after, I glanced at Sera. She stood near the open door, waiting for me. — My ma cooked us something for teatime, – she said. – Let’s go. — I’ll… pass, – I responded. — Why so? – she asks. “Why so?”, I think to myself. Ugh, fuck it. Everything I could think about is nothing more than just isolation induced self-pity methods to tell her to fuck off nicely. I stand up from her bed and go down with her to the kitchen. Miss Trish, still dressed up as a businesswoman, already has set up everything for us. I take a seat; my position makes Miss Trish sit to my left, and Sera – to my right. We begin. Because food from the diner was still boiling and dissolving inside my stomach, the cookies felt bland, but when I was asked about their taste, I simply responded: “They’re nice, as always.” The teatime went for some minutes, until Sera had to excuse herself and go to the bathroom. Leaving me and Miss Trish alone. These tense seconds I felt like she was ready to get me down onto the floor and fucking rip me apart with those horns. Too bad I don’t have a gun, and too bad I don’t want to punch a woman. Oh, at least it would bring an end to my weary existence. I hope my friends think I died an honorable death. — So, Greene, – she begins. I swallow the tea inside my mouth, prepared for anything. She pauses, and this pause was the thing I hated the most beside taxes and my life. — How do you like my girl? – she asks. What. That question hit me in the guts. Not only because I didn’t expect it, but also because it’s a question I didn’t know how to answer. I don’t know who Sera still is to me, that topic is as dusty as the space beneath my bed. I don’t want to lie, saying that I love or like her, but I don’t want to say the truth that I still doubt who she is to me – that would cause some unexpected reactions, most of which I didn’t like. — She’s… – I think thoroughly before answering. I have only one shot at this. – She’s fun. Miss Trish looks at the cup for a few seconds, processing my answer. Then she looked back at me, smiling, and said: — All me. I nod to that. — I’m sorry that I asked this, Greene, – she says, quickly, adding on top of the answered question, – it’s just that I wanted to know. Like a parent would! If you had your own kids, you would understand me right now. I nod to that again. I don’t blame her for typical parental curiosity. Miss Trish takes a sip, then, settling down the cup, looks onto the tea surface. — You know… I always was afraid that Sera would find someone that can only be described as a… tumor, – she said, then quickly added: – Not that I think that you are one, of course! – She continued talking at a calm pace, slowly stirring the tea with a silver spoon. – It’s just… I’m always afraid for my little Sera. Even if she’s mature and all, she’s still, sometimes, childish. A lot. I think you’ve seen it before. When she’s imagining herself as someone different and all that… I just hope it won’t go with her, when she’ll step out of uni. — Playing pretend didn’t hurt anybody, – I replied. – I play pretend a lot. — How so? — Be alone inside a small cheap apartment as a student who has no clear image of what to do to himself for some time, – I sighed. – Then you’ll understand me. Miss Trish chuckled. — You’re nice, Greene, – she said. – Fun, smart, strong… Just what Sera needs. And I’m glad she noticed her before you did, for some reason. Sera returned. I’m glad she didn’t hear anything, otherwise she would have asked some questions. But, knowing her, she would share a look with her mom, like she’s her partner in crime. After teatime, me and Sera returned into her room for actual studying. And that hour (or so) was the longest, most packed with little actions, hour of my entire life. Almost every five minutes Sera tried to hold hands with me, almost every time she would sit weird, as if hiding something. I know what causes these reactions. It’s not revolting, otherwise I would already go home, but it’s still weird, even when knowing the reason. After the “actual studying”, I went down to the first floor and headed straight to the front door. I got my boots on, and that moment Miss Trish peeked around the corner and said: — Already going home? — Yeah. Don’t want to grow on you. – I really thought I wasted much more time than needed. — Wait for a second, I’ll give you something. She disappears behind the corner, and after a few seconds returns with a small plastic bag, filled with all the chocolate chip cookies that she cooked for the teatime, and there were a lot of them. I took it as some kind of a prize I never thought I’d deserve. — Have a nice day, Miss Trish. — You too, Greene. Safe travel! As she smiled at me, I left Miss Trish’ household. Well, that’s one third of the day spent on doing anything but the intended thing. What can I say – an amazing pastime. I make my way to the bus stop, that will get me out of this neighborhood back to my district. I don’t feel like doing anything anymore, I’m drained as shit. I stand underneath the metal sheet that protects me from any kind of light emitting onto my head. I take out a pack of papieros, take one and light it. The stick was already done for, yet there was no trace of any bus nearby. I didn’t intend to wait for the bus for this long, but I’m just too lazy to take another one, and so I stand, waiting in the silence of this neighborhood. The question that Miss Trish asked me still thumped and banged inside my head like my heartbeat or a growing migraine. No doubt that she has all the right in the world to ask me such a question. She’s worried that I might be someone else, that I’m playing pretend for a good ass and bust to fuck. And she’s worried that, if the first thing is false, her daughter is lacking something that would make her picture perfect. She’s her parent in the end, she deserves to know the truth. But I know I lied. Not in the way that she isn’t fun – in the way that I didn’t actually say what is intended, which means the truth. Because I don’t fucking know the truth, all of it is so foggy and messy that it’ll take me more than a day to actually get to the point. And in this moment of clarity, I finally ask myself: “What do I feel about Sera?” The second later, I burst into violent coughs. Spitting out all the smoke I’ve inhaled. It lasts for quite some time (ten seconds of non stop coughing), before I end it with a savory, burning spit, landing onto the concrete and spreading wide in a tiny puddle. What caused such a reaction? What’s going on with me? I hear the bus getting closer. I straighten, wipe my face with the sleeve and wait until it arrives. The bus slows down and comes to a halt beside the bus stop box. I enter the bus, pay for my ticket and take a seat all the way at the back. My head soon drops onto the window. I feel so tired from everything. The thought is circling inside, unfinished, unmade. I want to toss it away, as far as I can, like a ball – for the bat to hit a homerun on the first try. But I don’t want to do that at the same moment. This ambivalence is worrying. My gaze looks outside while the bus moves, witnessing a typical scene. It’s like the image I see doesn’t have an end: it continues on and on outside my view, like a fractal of sorts. When the bus stops to collect people, my eyes move to look at the new passengers making their way inside, deeper into the back of the bus. I don’t care about the first, nor the second. I just want to go home. The bus stops yet again, opening the doors for the new passengers to come. I move my eyes yet again, completely still in the rest of my body, waiting for the end of the line. Out of the line, I spotted that girl I saw yesterday. A pink raptor, looking calm and careless about anything, as if constantly on something really good. She has huge curly and messy hair dropped behind her back, with a fat plain braid on each side of her head. A pair of purple diamond eyes, they are just like Sera’s, except much more tranquil. On her was a simple jacket, unzipped, revealing what looks like a plain black t-shirt; below is a pair of ripped velvet jeans. Behind her is a huge tail, following her like a righteous pet. I envy tails like these, they look and feel comfy. She looks around, and, spotting me, stops, startled. We look at each other for a couple of seconds, before she comes to me, taking the free seat beside me. — Why do I know you? – she asks. — You tell me. – I responded, a bit muffled because half of my face became attached to the window. – I don’t know shit. — Aren’t you, like, Sera’s BF or something? – she asks again. That makes me look. I know that girl, but I didn’t know that she knew that much about me from the get go. I guess Sera and her are talking a lot. — Oh, fuck, sorry, almost forgot, – she says quickly, then shows me her hand, open for a handshake. – Name’s Reeda. You? — Greene, – I respond, and infirmly shake her hand. It’s warm. She gives me a chilled smile. — So, you are Sera’s boyfriend, right? Or did she bullshit me again? — No, I am Sera’s boyfriend. – The words made me twitch, slightly, good grief she didn’t notice it. – Why do you care? — ‘Cause I’m, like, her friend and shit. Don’t take me as some sort of stalker or something, I just worry for her. Only now I notice how sloppy her voice is. Most of her words come out unpolished, like “something” out of her mouth becomes “sumthin’”, and “stalker” becomes “stalka’”. She’s definitely an avid carfe enjoyer. Whatever makes her boat float, I guess. — So, where’re you headed? – she asks. — Home, – I reply monosyllabically. — From where? If that’s not a secret. — From Sera. I didn’t think that much about the answer. What I said bewildered Reeda. It took her a second to process my words in her head. I thought she wouldn’t be surprised, since she already knows that I’m someone to Sera, but oh well. — Really? – she asks with a smile, in a bit of awe. — Yeah. — What were you doing? — Studying, for maths and shit. — Maths? Oh, yeah, she does suck a big one in maths. – She went silent for a second, before asking me a provocative question: – And you just studied? Not, like, close to fucking or something? I look at Reeda with a gaze that says it all: “On what carfe are you on to ask this shit?”, but she looks completely calm, more than that – after a few seconds she continues: — Oh, come on, I know there was something close to it! Not like I’ll spill it to someone. You can trust me, bro. Tell me. I give it a thought. Well, if Sera trusts Reeda, then why shouldn’t I trust her either? But in the meantime, Sera almost never mentioned Reeda when I was talking to her, and that makes me doubt her words. But quickly I remember when and where I saw her, and I, with a grain of devious malice, realize that it won’t take me much to clean the mouth of her teeth. This time punching a woman would be justified for me. — Well, we got close to that. Really close, – I say. — How close? – Reeda asks. — “Hands under shirts” type close, – I reply. — Oh, ho-ho, you got really close, yeah. What stopped you? — Her mom. — You were behind a closed door, right? — Of course we were. — How then? — I heard the front door closing. — Man, you have ears of a bat or something? — I guess I do. She chuckles a bit. I look outside, to notice familiar desolate urban landscapes. Me locked on the typical torn buildings makes Reeda ask: — You live here? Fuck. I have to reply. — …Yes. – Honesty is the best policy they say. I turn to her and see such a compassionate look on her face, that will easily surpass any similar looks. — Oh, man… How did that happen? – she asks. — Well, one dude offered a cheap apartment, and I bought it. Wasted almost all of my money, but at least I could live somewhere. I can’t say that this story is a lie (because that dude is still out there, and that offer did pass), but it hid a crucial part of the truth. And that is “why”. Why of all the places I came here in search of home. — Damn… She paused for a second, trying to get everything straight. — And what do you do in such a… place? — Mostly nothing. Rarely I read something, but can’t get more than twenty pages down. — And what will you do when you get home? — Nothing I presume. She paused for a second again, thinking about what to propose to me. I thought about the possibilities, and decided that whatever she’ll come up with, if it isn’t actually fucking vile and morbid, I will agree to it. — Do you know about the flatshow that Tommy and Melissa are planning to hold? – she asks. — Yeah, I do, – I answer. – They buzzed about it almost all the time. — So, like… – she says, a bit hesitant, – I’m a drummer. I’ll play there too. — Well, that’s interesting to hear, – I reply, nonchalantly. — Would you, like, join me in a rehearsal? – she asks. — What do you mean by “join”? Playing music? I don’t know how to play music. — Not playing music. Just watching. — Why? — Because, like, I need someone to watch me. I think it’ll make me play better. I think about it. Someone’s gaze really can change the outcome, that’s why teachers roaming around while the class is making a test is an actual thing. Reeda looks like a fine girl, why not help her? And, besides, what else is there for me to do today? The last little question is something I ask constantly, but can’t properly answer no matter how much I know or don’t know about myself. — Sure, – I responded. Reeda gives me a chilled smile of appreciation. And as I look at it for a few seconds, the bus begins to move from yet another bus stop. My bus stop. Oh well, now there’s two more reasons to join in. For the remainder of the road both of us are silent. Reeda got what she needed to know, and I just loved the silence. Something was about it that I loved it, so much more than the silence in my apartment. Maybe it’s because I share this silence with someone who almost five minutes ago was nothing more than a stranger to me. Or maybe it’s because Reeda, even as a stranger, is trustworthy. I don’t know. And I don’t want to pick out a myriad of options. Some time later, Reeda stands up, gesturing to me to follow. I get out of my seat and stand with her a step away from the closed doors. As I look around, I notice nothing but typical bus life. One person sits in his phone, looking like he has nothing more than five weeks away from death. Another person sits with an open beer can, having nothing more than five things to lose before his skull gets smashed in. Third person sits, huddled in his black coat, and sleeps, experiencing nothing more than five minutes of precious sleep before waking up to a demonic horn of life. This “nothing more than five” brings something into this life, making it different from a typical, normal life. The bus life is always unsure, inconstant. Looking like it will end before everyone will know. And yet again I delve into poetry. I understand what makes me think so, and I understand how pitiful, pathetic and, basically, pointless all of my repellency was. Poetic thinking and observations, no matter how much I fought them, are now a construct of my mind, constantly working (just like right now), to give out a mass for pondering and reconsideration. I can’t say I hate it, but I can’t say I love it. I’ll just say I finally got to a compromising acceptance. The bus stopped and opened the door. Reeda and I left the warm salon and the bus life inside it, instead choosing to live a full life moving through the frigid autumn weather. Unlike with Sera, with Reeda I move quite slow, much slower than I thought I would walk. This slow pace, to say the least, caught me off guard, and for the first few seconds I was power walking like usual. Only after I looked behind Reeda, who was completely fine with me power walking, I decided to slow down a bunch and try to walk at her pace. It was quite hard, but I managed to quickly get a grip on how to do it properly, and now I walk with her like I’ve smoked some carfe too. — You don’t like walking slowly, yeah? – she asks. — No, – I say. – It’s more about “it didn’t happen to me a lot, so I’m not used to it”. — Oh, I get it, – she replies, prolongedly. She paused for a second, and then suddenly sped up her walk quite a lot, to match with my usual walking speed, and said: — You know, I don’t usually walk around like this. At first I thought that you would walk slowly and decided to slow down. But since you’ve said it, why do I need to make it difficult? — You’re not making it difficult, per se, – I reply. – It just doesn’t happen to me that often. — But it’s still hard for you, – she says, standing her ground in this discussion. – I mean, for the first few seconds you were power walking while I took my sweet ass time. — It’s not like that. It isn’t hard for me. I said, it doesn’t happen to me that much, that’s why I don’t walk around slowly. Sooner than I thought, she turned away and quickly got to the front door of a house that, for the first few seconds, I thought was picked at random. I stopped, walked back and got to the front porch, rejoining Reeda behind. She opened the door and entered; I followed suit and closed the door after myself. As I took off my shoes, I saw another pink raptor: almost looking just like her, except he had short hair and a much more worn look. No doubts, that’s her dad. — And who’s that? – he asked. — That? That’s Greene, Sera’s boyfriend. — Oh, is that so? Never thought that Sera had a BF. — Come on, I told you before. A ton of times I did. — Maybe I forgot it. Sorry, sweetie. They hugged each other quickly; Reeda left the scene, and the pink raptor came over to me. He was only slightly taller than me, but if we got into a fight, I’m sure I'd take him down easily. Even though he looks rather athletic, his muscles are worn by time and no activity. He smiled at me, absolutely chill and at peace with everything around me, like he has no enemies at all. Then, he extended his hand to me, and I could see a lot of lines, either scars or a natural pattern. — Reed, – he says. I nod and shake his hand. — Make yourself at home, amigo, – he adds, and hides his hand in his pocket. I walk into the living room. At first I thought that it would be quite trashed, but no – it was kept rather well and clean enough for me not to have a sudden sheer asphyxia attack from the dust. The only chaos that I could spot was distant, mainly on the shelves. Reed takes a seat on a comfy couch. — Reeda’s in her room, over there, – he said and pointed at the barely open door. – Don’t make her wait. I nod and slowly enter Reeda’s room. I didn’t expect that much. A normal looking bed. Normal looking posters. Normal looking table, trashed with normal looking books and papers. Normal looking small wardrobe, tucked in a corner. Normal looking shelves with normal looking figurines and books. But what I didn’t expect was a drumset. It was rather small, to fit in the dimensions of the room, but still was filling up around a half of free space. Despite that, there was enough room for me and for at least a couple more people to join in, to watch. I looked at Reeda, who was already lying on her bed, staring into the phone. — I’m just waiting for one dude to arrive, don’t worry, – she says. – He’ll arrive shortly. I lean onto the wall to my left and cross my arms on my chest. — So you’re playing on the flatshow? – I ask. — Yeah. But besides that, I have my own shit. That’s why I wait for the dude to come up. She gets up, crosses her legs and looks at me. — You know, when your limbs get tired a lot, it’s easier to play slow and easy shit. Your mind’s just… like… turns off. Don’t even think – just go with the flow, and all that. I don’t respond. The front door opens. I hear Reed say: “Finally!”, as someone else approaches him and, judging by the sounds, embraces him in a tight hug. Then, the door opens, and another raptor enters the room. A familiar yellow face in a white jacket. Reeda, noticing him, gets up from the bed and comes over to him to what I can describe as the most romantic fucking hug I’ve ever seen. — How was the road? – Reeda asks the raptor, taking a seat behind the drums. — Fine, – he responds. Only then he notices me, looking away at the bed, thinking about my own shit. – And who’s that? — That’s Greene. Sera’s BF. Do you know her? — Sera? That gal from one of the most succeeding classes? — Yep. And that’s her BF, right there. I finally turn my head, to face the yellow raptor. A white jacket, a pair of simple denim jeans, accompanied by a pair of new looking varnished leather shoes. A crest underneath his lower jaw, making him look like he has a goatee, just like me. Behind him is a heavy hardwood guitar case. We look at each other like this, observingly, for quite a while, until a smile creeps onto his face. — Man, you look frightening, – he says, and then stretches his arm out to me for a handshake: – Name’s Samuel. Call me Sam. I nod and shake his hand. Third handshake in a day. A new record. He takes off the guitar case, opens it with satisfying clicks, to reveal a beautiful six-string guitar. It looked so expensive I wanted to disintegrate before its very sight. Sam grabbed it by the fretboard and pulled it out of its confinement. He places it near me, opens the wardrobe and takes out a huge amplifier. This machine sounds like it will cause a natural cataclysm, like an earthquake or something. With swift moves, Sam connects the guitar to the amp by a fat cable, then turns on the amp. He gave the guitar a light strum, and the sheer distortion made something inside me turn to dust. Maybe it’s my entire organism. Whatever. I’ll just step out for a second. I left the room. Reeda and Sam didn’t say anything – I think they expected this. Without me in the room, they began playing. I could feel everything just shaking vigorously. The drums are punching through every thick wall of this place, the wailing distortion soaks everything in sheer constant noise. If that’s not what modern music is, I don’t know what is. Reed comes around and flops down onto the couch near me. — Couldn’t handle the music? – he asks. I nod. Instinctively, I pull out a pack of papieros, but, catching this action half-way in, I stop, and then hide it back in the pocket. — It’s fine to smoke around here, amigo, – he says, reassuringly. – I fixed the vents, now they work quite well. Still, I don’t feel like grabbing myself a nicotine stick. I’ll fight my urge to smoke at someone’s apartment no matter what. — How did Reeda get a drum set? – I ask, desiring to spend some time talking. — It’s my old one, from high school days, – Reed answers. – I just took some stuff from it, to make it fit inside her room, and voila. Also did some upgrades here and there. Made it infinitely better, IMO. I nod. Hearing internet abbreviations in normal speech is weird, but it gives out a typical chill internet friendship vibe that I like for some reason. — So you were playing in a band before. — Yeah. I did. It just… all went downhill. Sometimes I remember it and just… try to understand where everything went wrong. He looked at me for a second. Suddenly, he frowned, as if realizing something. I looked back at him, which made him look aside, thinking. — Wait… Aren’t you, like, Anon’s son? – he asks. Oh boy. I haven't heard that name in years. Strangely, Reed knowing that name doesn’t make me flinch even slightly. I nod. — Raptor Jesus on his cross of rock, that’s… – he says, unable to finish. He sits closer to me. — How’s your dad doing? — I don’t know. — What do you mean? I thought you still kept up with him. Or something happened between both of you? — Yeah. Something did happen. My tone made him pause for a second in quick contemplation. — And for how long you didn’t talk to him? — For… five years, maybe? — Five years? Damn… You really got out of touch with him. He sighed. — I hope he’s doing fine. And I hope that Fang does too. Fang? Does he mean my mom or something? He saw me contemplating upon that nickname, sighed again and began: — Fang was a nickname for a gal we had in our band, besides me and one other girl, Trish. You know her already, no doubts in that. Fang and Anon, they… didn’t have much of a warming welcome between each other. It was a rough turmoil to say the least, but they got out of it. And when they did, all of it… and I mean all of it went downhill. She, Fang, became distant from us, quite a lot. She was getting closer and closer to Anon, and I started to think that she became dependent on him. Trish though… – he paused for a second, then scoffed: – She acted like a fucking hero. No doubts. She tried to pull Fang in, at all costs. She just couldn’t live with the thought that Fang is now with Anon, that both of them had their lives, really different from ours. I wanted to distance myself from this… this bullshit. I wanted to just focus on myself and my future, for the first time in… seventeen years or so. Trish just… always pulled me in. I couldn’t resist. She was my friend, still, but her methods… – he groaned. – Fucking hell. Once I even… – he paused again. I understand that it’s really hard for him to say all of this, but I don’t want to make him stop. He sighed and continued: – Once we were sitting in a cafeteria, I was talking to him. Then I blabbed something about Trish and Fang having a private convo, and he just rushed to that place. When I got to him I… I locked his head, – he showed how he did it, like my dad’s head was right there, in his arms, – and, saying that everything goes fine, opened the door. Oh boy how fucking wrong I was. Everything turned to shit. That was the moment I realized everything turned to shit. I left after that. Just… He couldn’t continue any more. He said more than enough. — It’s good that he’s still holding up to this day, – Reed finished, in worn positivity. – Makes me believe that he always was stronger than me and Trish and all the odds he went against. He looked at me, compassionately. Waiting for me to say something. We were silent for a few seconds, then he asked me: — Why did you leave him? What did he do to you? I turned my gaze aside. That is a question I can answer. That is a question I want to answer. But what could happen if I say it? What will Reed do to my dad if he finds out about all the forcing? I still hold no pity against my dad, but still… I’ll save him from possible death this time. Reed waited for me to answer for quite a while, but, not hearing a response, he said: — If that’s really hard on you, don’t say it. Inside, I drew a huge sigh of relief. Those words are like a balm for my soul. Thanks Reed. The door to Reeda’s room opened. Sam breezed through the living room and got inside the bathroom. I got up and entered the room, now drenched in all the silence taken away by the shredding and the drumming. — Sam went for a piss break, he’ll get back shortly, – Reeda said. She’s all sweaty and huffing. Makes me think she strains herself by playing so fast and so powerful. Sam’s guitar is lying on the bed, still connected to the amp and ready to play. I look at it, and envision Sam, punching the notes out of the strings, relentlessly, vigorously. If I knew how to play like Sam… No, if I knew how to play at all! Raptor Jesus, I sure do not have anything to show for myself. — I know what you’re thinking about, – Reeda says all of a sudden. I look at her with question. — “I wish I knew how to play guitar”, – she says, and gives me a cheeky smile. – That’s what you think about. I don’t negate that, just nod in humble admitting. — That’s why I got behind the drumset, – Reeda says. – In some way, it’s easier. I don’t know in which way though. Maybe because everything is right in front of you. I don’t reply to that, knowing that it still takes a lot of effort to play the drums well, even though it sounds easy on paper and actually is easier than playing guitar. — Actually, Greene, do you wanna try to play the drums? – she asks. The question caught me off guard. I looked at her with jolt and questions as she stood up from the spinning chair. — Just try! – she said, answering to my gaze. – No one’s going to laugh at you for not being able to play drums! — I just don’t know how to play them, – I replied. — Just try, bro, – she said again. I caught myself: what really stops me from playing drums? What is the reason I’m denying her offer here? Besides, I could learn something out of it, which is nice to have. I walked behind the drumset and sat down onto the spinning chair. The drumsticks are settled on the white snare, their ends point at a medium sized tom, tilted towards me. To the right is also a tom, much bigger than the first one (I think it’s called floor tom). There are some cymbals too: a hi-hat, a crash, a ride, a china. A basic set for a room like this. I took the drumsticks. It felt weird, but in the meantime I was confident that I’ll nail whatever I’ll play. Reeda looked at me, smiling approvingly, waiting for me to begin. Her confidence was something that made me even more confident and determined. A song played in my head. It was slow and old, something I could play easily. I got the beat down and began playing. Reeda, to say the least, was mesmerized. She didn’t move an inch, looking at how firm I was, entirely focused on playing the drums. Most of it was sloppy and unpolished, but she still was in awe. Sam, who joined in to see what was going on, was quite surprised too. Recognizing the song, he immediately reached in for the guitar and began playing. Good on him, I only began playing. Can’t say I felt something, but I was sure that I had it all sorted out. And I was sure – I am happy that I was able to do at least something. As the song was finished, I looked down onto the snare. Its whiteness was reassuring. — Hot damn, Greene! – Reeda said. – You really got it in you! — For sure, – Sam said, smiling. I got up from the drumset, all worn. Reeda’s bed was inviting, I wanted to just fall face down onto it. But I had a bit of strength, that I spent getting to my usual spot near a wall and just flop down. I didn’t want to go into the living room to fall onto the couch, despite the perspective of that being quite nice. I'm staying here. Sam gave me earmuffs, so I could handle all the stress from the blasting music. I gladly accepted them, and just watched as they played with all their strength. Reeda said that she wants to play the slow things for the flatshow while being absolutely spent, but something tells me she won’t practice for the flatshow at all – that’s how pumped up by my drumming she was. Not even ten minutes in, Sam received a call on his phone. He excused himself, leaving both me and Reeda in the room, alone, again. — Samuel… – I said, longingly, looking at the barely open door. — Just Sam, – Reeda said. — How’s he like? – I asked and looked at Reeda. — He’s… fine. He’s fun to be around. And he plays guitar, which is nice. — Is he in your group or something? — No, he’s in a different one, but the schedule allows us to meet a lot. And we do meet a lot. Even outside uni, like here. Sam returns, picks up his guitar. While he chats with Reeda, I look down into my phone to check the time. Almost 6 PM. Jesus, time flew fast. Well, I could sit around for half an hour or so. Reeda and Sam began playing again. The earmuffs helped to remove all the excessive noise, and the muffled music was actually pretty enjoyable. They went on to play for about two minutes, until Reeda stopped, looking down onto her hands, holding the drumsticks. That made Sam stop playing and me – to turn alive and look at her. — Never it happened, – Reeda said, and raised her hand, holding a stick, broken in half, – and it happened again. Sam chuckled. — That’s for luck, – he said. We all shared a laugh. Some time later, I excused myself and left the room. Reed, who is still in the living room, asked me where I’m headed, to which I replied: “I’m going home.” I pick up and get my boots on. Then I zip up my coat. — I have a question for you, Greene, – Reed said. – If there was anything for you to change in the past, if you had a chance to change anything, what would you change? I gave it a quick thought, and then, putting my hand on the doorknob, replied: — I don’t think there is anything for me to change. — Well, what if there was? – I begin to think he asks me these questions to just hold me here for another few seconds. — Even if there was, how can I be sure that I’ll remain the same after I do it? My question stopped Reed from any more questioning. With that, I left Reed’ household, aiming to return back home. The streets are dark now, with street lamps lighting them up in each and every spot. Still, even with the lamps, this neighborhood is as dark as the deepest cave humanity has ever known. In this darkness, I walk away from Reed’ household and make my way to the nearest bus stop. Again, in complete loneliness, I take the last stick out of the pack, light it up and take a drag. The livid vile bluish smoke dissipates in the darkness. Before I could finish the papieros, the bus rolled around. I have to put it out and throw it away. There was one third of it remaining, left for someone who has no money and a crippling nicotine addiction. I enter the bus, pay for the ride and get in the back of the salon, taking the loneliest seat there was. Today was a really busy day, and it must end now. For the first few minutes of this ride I kept my composure, looking down onto the streets as much as the last bit of energy I had allowed me. Then I passed out into sleep, only to be awakened a couple of bus stops away from my district. I look around, get myself ready, and when the minute comes, I swiftly leave the bus, stepping outside into the cold darkness. I quickly move through the frigid streets, all the way back to my apartment complex. My thoughts are still mixed from the sudden awakening, but that quick nap I took restored a lot of my energy. I enter the apartment complex, quickly get up the stairs and enter my apartment. It welcomes me as usual. In a matter of a few seconds, I take off my shoes, lock the door, get to my bed and fall onto it. In its coldness, I slowly descend into the warming nothingness of sleep.