Why the fuck doesn't anyone seed torrents these days?

I thought I'd be able to grab raws of this old ecchi 4-koma and run it through a translator, but looks like that's not happening anymore. Those losers on the Nicaraguan blockprinting mailing list were fucking useless, as usual.

I take a swig out of the beer can.

Left hopeless after the final attempt to pin down my latest infatuation, a mixture of annoyance and disappointment clouds my mind, along with a large pit in my stomach.

Something tells me I've had that pit since I woke up this morning.

A quick glance at my monitor tells that it's around half past noon.

...

Oh. Yeah, her. Right. I need to get to her.

Anxiety once again shrouds my mind.

To tell the truth, the idea of getting face-to-face with her is already making my knees pretty weak. The resolve that I built up yesterday clearly wasn't enough to get me out the door.

The more I think about the whole plan, the more petty problems and excuses I find with actually going through with it.

One of the problems being actually going up to her. When does she play there? If she's playing, do I just sit there till she gets offstage? Do I just walk up to her? Do I meet her backstage in their staff room? What if she notices me sitting on the table this time? Do I stay out of view?

What do I even say to her?

Why am I even wracking my head over this again? I know already that I've got nothing to lose. Why am I still getting cold feet? I just need to meet her this one time, apologise for everything I did, and then it'll all be over. If she doesn't want to see me again, then she won't have to. Everything will go back to as it was, but with a blank slate and no baggage. That's what we'd both want.

That reminds me. I haven't showered in a week.

Finally, my legs find the energy to get up. I walk across the trash-strewn floor and make an effort to clean myself. Laundry's been overdue for close to a month now, but luckily there's a clean shirt in the corner. The jacket needs a wash, though.

Suddenly, I realize that I'm trying to make myself look presentable in a run down pizzeria.

The ridiculousness of the situation doesn't make me laugh, however.

...

It takes me a few more minutes of suppressing my unfounded hesitation, but I eventually get to opening the door.

The walk is more tiring than yesterday's, somehow. Each step is labored, and my heart rate keeps ticking up as I get closer to my destination. It took me around half an hour last time, I think? I keep thinking about what will happen after the whole debacle is over. A part of me that wants to keep in touch with her. Another part of me brings up the fact that things are beyond repair already and its better that we stay out of each other's shit. Another hundred scenarios and questions run through my mind with no sign of stopping anytime soon. Damn it. I can't calm down at all.

Eventually, the time for debates and simulations runs out as I find myself at Pizza Time's doorway.

Well, this is it.

I take a glance at the stage to the right an-

Wait.

It's not lit. Guess they don't play today.

What do I do now? My only lead here is the cashier.

...Oh, what the hell. I make my way towards the old somethingsaurus. His actual identification obscured by the layers of fat on him.

"Hey."

The cashier breaks out of the daze he was seemingly in, taking full advantage of the lunch lull.

"Uh, there was a band playing here yesterday. You know when they'll be on again?"

He gives me a look of what was probably bewilderment and scorn, as if to say that I should be taking medication. To be fair, if I was him I would be thinking the same.

He opens his mouth after a few seconds of staring.

"I Dunno."

"You really don't know?"

"I don't book any of the shows here. The boss does that."

"Can I meet him?"

"He's not here."

"...when will he be here, then?"

"I dunno. He just drops by whenever he feels like it. The evening today, maybe?"

Well, there's not much I can do now. Would making another trip today do any good? Best I can think of is to return here everyday to see if she's playing. Hopefully the police won't hit me with a restraining order for peeking into a rundown pizzeria. This is Skin Row, after all.

Just as I'm about to turn around, the cashier interjects with a slight glee.

"Ya know, you're the first guy I've ever seen saying good things about those junkies."

Huh.

Knowing that Fang is now what other people would term a crackhead wasn't surprising, but hearing it firsthand isn't sitting well with me.

I swallow the lump in my throat and reply.

"Yeah, I liked what they played yesterday."

"Heh! Last time they were here a couple of days ago, the pterodactyl bitch threw a hissy fit in front of the boss because of the pay and then just left crying. One of the guys followed behind her and the other tried to smooth things out with the boss.

She came back after a few minutes but this time with her mouth shut. Should've seen the look on her face!"

The fatass lets out a few snickers.

"Bet she got told nobody's gonna pay for her shit anywhere else. All of these god damn college kids are the same. Daddy's liddle widdle princess decides that she's gonna be this biiiig star one day and goes to some fancy shmanshy artsy school, then she's all like 'fuck the system!! I'm gonna do it myself!!!' and drops out.

Then they end up flipping burgers with mountains of debt and next thing you know, if they're retarded enough, they're snorting cocaine in some alley and giving blowjobs for money! And then they still have it in them to bitch about, I dunno, capitalism and pronouns or some shit."

My fists curl up. I almost think of clocking him one in the face before remembering that I'll be the hypocrite if I do, considering I was thinking in same direction yesterday.

"How long have they been playing here?"

"I dunno, a few months? Boss decided that he wanted to bring the restaurant to 'new heights.' Whatever 'new heights' at the far end of this shithole means. He decided to build that stage and put up a poster to woo in 'aspiring musicians' to play here. Well, to be fair to him, it did pull in a few more customers.

But, the pizza's still horrible, and he ain't gonna fix the pizza anytime soon by the looks of it. Anyways, you really gotta do something about that ghetto-ass music taste. You kids really need to listen to some Raptallica or Paleohead. Man, that was the SHIT. Nothing else ever comes close to th-"

Yeah, I'm done here.

"Alright. See ya."

"What, you mad at me or something? Haha."

I don't bother responding. I get out the store.

As angering as that sentient tub of lard's words were, a part of me can't help but think that's exactly what happened. That she pushed away and gave up everything in her life to chase this pipe dream and ending up with little more than lifelong misery to her name.

Maybe she's gone off the deep end by now. Maybe she really is selling herself for money in some alleyway. My mind shudders to think about all the sorts of things she might be doing to herself. Doing those things because of me.

God fucking damn it.

...

Guess I'll be coming back here regularly. I might come back in the evening if I feel like it.

And with that, I've got nothing else to do outside.

I begin the retreat towards my apartment, but my feet had other plans, it seems. They start walking towards nowhere in particular and I decide to just go with it. A walk could be nice, probably.

With nothing else to stimulate my fried dopamine receptors for a while except for my cracked, barely working phone, my mind shifts to other topics.

Looking back on life, there weren't many people that I was particularly close with, including my mother and father. There was always an air of them doing things for me just because they had to. That feeling only got stronger as the days went by. My suspicion was finally confirmed after them not phoning me for the four years after I joined the navy. Their only child turning out to be a disappointment was a dealbreaker, I suppose. I can't help but feel extremely bitter whenever I remember them, and even moreso about the fact that I can't do anything about it.

There was this one kid in middle school that I used to sit with during recess. All the guy did was play FIFA and Call of Duty. Nevertheless, I did kind of enjoy hanging out with him. He moved out after seventh grade however, and we didn't keep in touch after that.

Cherished memories? The closest thing I have to it would be when I was fiddling around with an old CRT television that someone dumped in a park nearby, which I split open by throwing rocks. I brought batteries and a couple pieces of wire from home to see if I could light up the LEDs on the front display's circuit board, and then, imagination struck me. I had the awesome idea of tying different parts of the television to myself and other junk lying about with rope to turn myself into a Gundam. I still think it was the coolest thing I ever did. Too bad that mom yelled at me when I came home looking like that and threw all of it away. Good times.

Something far sweeter and more recent comes to mind, but I am quick to dismiss it.

Unfortunately, all this reminiscence did nothing but remind me again of a simple fact: I'm alone. I've always been alone.

I've known that pretty much my whole life and I've always brushed it off. It's not a big deal. It's never been a problem for me. I've never needed more than a few acquaintances to keep myself in the loop. A roof, food, smokes, and a computer and an internet connection is all I've ever needed, and I already know that I'll probably welcome the sweet release of death before I turn thirty.

I've accepted that long ago, so why does that fact sting me more with each passing year?

...

After I had enough of pitying myself, I take a look around to find myself near the dirty riverside at the outskirts of Skin Row. Complete with pebbles, rocks, shells and garbage. The narrow walkway lining it wasn't faring much better. At least the netted fence is mostly intact. I could almost make out where it's opening up into the sea.

Because of how bad the neighborhood is, the only trips I ever made here were to high school and the grocery store near my apartment and even then, I'd go to the supermart downtown if I could help it. This is the first time I'm seeing the shore from Skin Row.

If I'm right, this is on the same path that I used to take to high school. I can probably make it back to the apartment from here.

...

The warmth of the afternoon sun started to fade away as time went by.

Except for a few hobos lying near the railings, no one seemed to be here during this time of the day. Surprisingly, seeing a body of water again didn't immediately fill me with disgust. It was even kind of nice. Not being in a boat with thirty other assholes probably helps, I guess. The path was marked with rundown warehouses, walls, mildew, and the smell of piss. Sad to think that this is probably the best place you can hang around in this entire ghetto, at least during the day.

Eventually, the walkway branches into the rows of apartments that are near my place. There should be another path a bit further down that goes to the high school.

Well, as much as I hate to admit it, the walk managed to take my mind off things, at least for a while.

I come back to the familiar and mostly empty streets, persuading me to raise my guard back up again. My apartment should be about 5-10 minutes away from here.

You know, maybe I don't really need to meet her. Maybe she's already getting her life back in order. That gig in that restaurant is probably just the start, and she's got new bandmates who respect her decisions now. Things are looking up for her, aren't they?

...

...Let's get home before I can think of a worse excuse to back out than that.

As I keep shuffling through the streets I hear a faint noise coming from somewhere. I try to turn my head towards the source. In the far distance to my left, several blocks away, I spot two people dragging a mattress into one of the dingy three-story apartment buildings. Two dinos. One of them winged. The winged one yells at the other as the two move upstairs while hauling over the large object.

...

It's Fang, isn't it?

Well, would you look at that. My knees are weak again.