Apr 03, 2020


The smell of the flowers is rising in the air. The dew trickles through the grass, and then my legs. A violinist played at the end of the park, each tune, each note piercing holes in the early breeze of spring. Unwise athletes, however, go on their morning as always, ears stuffed with headphones. An occasional, loud beat disturbing the serenity of the park.

I walk among those runners. This is my first morning in a long, long time. Never saw the sun before noon since my teenage years. Actually, I never spoke or thought about nature ever before either. This thing's getting to me. 

I silently trod up to the spot where the violinist is sitting with his set. I have nothing to drop in his empty violin case. I sit and take in the music. Maybe I'll cry, at least that would make him happy.

Winter is gone but the canines aren't. I hate them dogs, and cats. And cars too. Even though how much ever I would have ever lied that I loved those things, I hate them. Cars are boring as hell. You sit alone in a moving, closed room, smelling somebody's farts. Red, green, blue. I hate them all. They go on and on, especially on those overrated long rides And the whirring sounds of the wheels starts killing you after a while. Pure rancid. 'Cause it's been sitting there since we got out of the house, babe! The trees have passed, towns have passed, signals and urchins and police cars have passed. What has remained is just us, and the whirring.

And all of that to meet your girlfriend's moron of a childhood friend! Yeah, you bought a beachfront. We don't need to hear it, Aiden! You are a loner. Stick it up!

And then there's the pets. Teethy bastards. Dogs, to me, smell of poop. Because their owners are running around the park, listening to fucking metal music in such a refreshing morning. And their dogs are running up to my feet, wagging their tails at me. NO! You ain't getting nothin'! You fucking morons!

OK that was harsh. But I do hate pets. That's why I never wanted one. But some people... never mind.

I'd rather fill my crazy head with this heartbreaking music than anger. That was last night. Today is supposed to be calm. No anger, no fury, no nuisance, and no negativity. Calm. Serene. Refreshing. Soft. Pink. Fluffy.

I walk away from the violinist and out of the park. He lost the magic after the third melody, I'll be honest with you. Also when those runners eye you with suspicion, for lazing out on a bench... I'm not returning to that park ever again. Into my room, into my bedroom, into my bed. That's a joyous life.

I wake up and I am drenched in sweat. So is my shirt and my bed-sheets. A quick shower and I am out. Don't wanna stay in that filthy drain of an apartment. Only those who have had an Italian neighbor know what I am talking about. These people, they cook and fill the neighbor's house will all the spices - and when confronted - call it aroma! Fuck you, Roma!

I need to cool down. What better spot than a park? Maybe I'll roll in the garden, among the grass. Maybe I'll play in mud with some dogs. Who knows? Maybe I'll just sit beside this old man reading Dickens on a spring evening. Who the hell reads Dickens on a sweet, spring evening? Old duds.

I see a gentleman being dragged by his Pomeranian, he is talking on phone with cheeks redder than the garden rose. He is cheating. I am sure, he is cheating. That's his girlfriend's dog that he is FORCED to walk with, and his side chick is discussing her bedroom plans for the night. Which movie will they watch? Which restaurant will they go to? What would they eat? Know how I know all this? You probably guessed it.

I talk a lot, don't I? Well, I don't. But now I am. 'Cause I don't know what else to do? Lay down on this old man's lap? I don't know. My girlfriend might break up with me for that too.

Thirteen months! You heard that right. Thirteen months I have been putting up with her pets, her pet peeves. Her long rides and candle light evenings. I hate that! I HATE THAT! I am so tempted to append a hundred E's to that hate. But you got me.

And what did I get in return? A break up? For one night? I screamed to her. "It wasn't intimate." "I was drunk." "Maybe she drugged me." "I don't remember nothin'." "I only imagined you the entire time, baby." But no effect. None. She left the apartment. Took all her photographs, her cups, her papers, her phone, her pets. Her fucking beers. Guess what she left behind? That's right. Dog poop.

Roses and tulips all around me, but the only smell lingering is dog poop. I thought springs are for new beginnings. Here I am sitting with the end of my love life in my broken palms. Where's the joy? Where are the colors of life? Where is the fragrance of the soil, the moisture of the air? The peace of the heart... my piece of the heart? Everything seems gone with the winter nights.

I walk on the side of the sidewalk - other side left for the runners. I tried to breathe in the fresh air along with the trees, dance on the music of the air, shower with the colors of the sky. But there were none. Or maybe, they never reached me. I long for my coke, but she took my stash too. Maybe I'll just keep walking until someone notices my nosebleed. Or dripping saliva. Park goers be good Samaritans. They'll help.

I get out of the park. A strong cup of coffee will do me some good. Perhaps, I'll get some good sleep after all. No sweat drenched sheets, or shorts. A long, peaceful sleep. Maybe till the next autumn. It's autumn, right?

I enter the coffee shop. The room is filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. If you don't understand that, the room smelt brown. I pick up an espresso and sit on a round table for one. It's a wide cafe. Several tables are lined up rather haphazardly in the small room. I am sitting in the leftmost corner, staring at the entrance door. Jazz music is playing on the jukebox. I like it. Reminds me of the violinist I listened to last night. Beautiful, melodious compositions. In the dim lights, I see several people coming in and going out of the coffee shop. I am just waiting for my coffee to cool down. 

The old man reading Dickens passed the large window on the sidewalk. I wanted to run outside and hug him tightly. Maybe he'll feel less lonely; maybe I'll too. I decided against it. My coffee might get too cold. I keep my gaze fixed on the door. I know they are coming - both of them, together. Maybe they are waiting for me to finish my coffee and leave. But dude, am I smart!

I keep glancing at my clock. The waitress is shooting looks at me, maybe it's time to go. 'Work at Hooters, if you want tips.' Of course, I don't say it out loud. Or maybe I do. I don't know. I am fixated on the entrance.

And sure as hell they arrive. As sure as you are of your existence right now, and I am of mine. They arrive. She has hidden her face in his bulging jacket for some reason. Winter's gone! Or perhaps she is crying. The cat is with her too, on a leash, walking erect like an Egyptian mummy (though I have never seen any walk). The bespectacled guy cruises to the most hidden of all tables. She is clinging to that jacket so dearly. Oh, I can't take it. I get up and leave the coffee house. I turn to my right and stare through the large window for one last time at the couple. Yep, it's Aiden.

I stop a taxi and tell him my address. He points to my building on the side and drives away. Lazy jerk. I walk through the park again. The moon is shimmering in the evening sky. A fleet of stars dancing around it, maybe ballet. A drunkard is sitting on a bench, playing the mouth organ. I sit beside him, grab his beer and fall asleep on his shoulder. The fragrance of tulips and whiskey calming my nerves.

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