Power's out.

Ah shit. It’s black again. I get up, walk to the window, open the blinds and look outside. Everything turned black. No fucking power anymore.

Shit.

It always seems to happen at the worst time. But then I think, is there really a good time for the power to break down? The birds are chirping and the sky clears up. I’m not ready. I’m not ready for another day. Powerless, useless day, one after the other. Then I remember, the fucking power is out. Shit.

I’m already a part of the worst people on Earth, and now my power’s out too. The whole fucking street’s power’s out. So what to do when you’re Scottish and you haven’t slept in 20 hours? I mean sleeping as little isn’t new. Actually, it’s becoming pretty redundant. But what to do. You don’t have a job, nowhere to go, nowhere to be, no one to see or meet, not a fucking responsibility. That’s when your parents are the only lawyers in town. They don’t care about you enough to spend time with you but don’t worry, you’ll get a check at the end of the month. I’m not one to complain, tho. I’ve never been. ‘Ve been giving stash to all my friends and wankers since second year. Now we’ve just upgraded to some fancier drugs, sometimes.

Shit. The power’s fucking out. I stare out the window a few more seconds, to see my neighbor naked just one last time, today, and close the blinds. I turn around and walk to the kitchen. Sometimes, I feel like a robot when walking. Like I have to think about every micro-movement I make. Like I’m scared I’ll forget how to do it if I don’t remind myself. I take out my daily dose of crumbling wall while waiting for my coffee and sit down at the table. Before putting down my bowl of cereal, I push to the side all the dirty dishes lying around. And I eat the first spoon full of milk and cereal. I look out the window and everything’s still dark. The only light reflecting off my spoon is the down-going moon. As I realize that, I remember, the power’s out. How come I keep forgetting though still knowing it.

I leave my bowl on the table, just pile it up on the others. I get up and walk out the kitchen to my bed, look at my floor. It’s fucking disgusting. Looks like shit. My whole flat does. You’d think my parents’d pay for a maid. Maybe they do, I don’t know. Maybe I never seem to be awake the same time he is.

I pick up the shirt at my feet, smell it, and put it on. It smells like shit. I do too. I get back up. It feels like I’m going in a circle. Go to my dressing cabinet, open the second drawer and pick out some black jeans. I put them on. They barely fit, but it’ll do. I’ve got nowhere to go and no one to see anyway.

I feel the sleep coming up. Now. The sun’s finally rising and I feel the sleep taking over. I’m close to falling back on my bed, eyes closed. Shit. The fridge. I’ve got to empty it cause the fucking power’s out. I’ve got to store all this food somewhere cold. Can’t think of anything. I can’t think straight. My eyes are slow and my brain even worse. Where the fuck is it coldest? Then it hits me. I’m in fucking Scotland. It’s cold everywhere. I’ll just put everything outside and pray for no rain. I still have that vegetable casserole from my friend. Can’t wait to eat it. When I’m gonna feel hungry again. If I ever do.

I get up and open the fridge. Take the casserole out first. Behind it a fucking old jar of pickles. I look at the expiration date. 6 months ago. I throw it. It lands in the can. I scream a little, out of joy and pride, and go back into my fridge. I see a bottle of milk there. In the back. I open it to bring it to my nose. No need. I can smell it from there. I gag, close it and throw it away. It lands next to the trash can and explodes. Now I have expired milk on my wall, trash can, and floor. Shit. Now I’m Scottish, the power’s out and there’s expired milk rotting on my crumbling walls. What a life to be jealous of, aye? I continue my fridge crusade and once the majority of it is in the trash and the rest outside, I think about the rotten milk on my walls and decide to leave it to the maid, whenever he’ll be here.

I get out of the kitchen, close the door and go to my desk. I sit on the chair, open the first drawer, take out the weed, the grinder, the tobacco, the paper, and filters. I roll up a filter very tightly and block it between my teeth. Take a piece of paper and fold it in half. Take out the tobacco, fill the paper with it, place the rolled-up filter on the far right of the paper and start rolling. I delicately put it on my desk. Fill the grinder with weed and grind the dried-out leaves. Place the crumbled-up weed onto the tobacco in the paper and start rolling again. I block the right corner of the paper between the filter and the other side, roll it up tightly, lick the paper, and seal this magnificent joint. I burn the paper that sticks out the filter, put it in my mouth, burn the other end of it and inhale. Exhale. Slowly. Close my eyes and tilt my head backward. It feels good. Really fucking good.

When I open my eyes, I turn my chair and look out the window, The sun’s up. Must be around twelve. It’s been 26 hours without sleeping. This weed’s just perfect. The joint’s finished and I start rolling another one. I’m in the middle of grinding the leaves when I hear someone at the door. Knocking on my apartment door. Lenore? I sigh. I sigh again and put the grinder on my desk, next to the paper, tobacco, and filter. The knocking starts again. I get up, wipe my hands off on my black jeans and start walking to the door. “Who the fuck’s there?” - “James, it’s me. It’s me, Marcus Coinseller. I, uh, I wondered if you had any bud.” I don’t answer. They seem to always tell more when there’s silence. “Shit I’m sorry. I just thought, the power’s fucking out, what to do when the power’s fucking out? And my final answer was smoke but I didn’t have any no more. So I thought maybe you had some.” There it is. I’m becoming his dealer. “Fuck Marcus. I’m not ya fucking dealer, aye?” - “I know, I know. I’m sorry, mate. Never mind then.” I open the door and see Marcus walking away. “Marcus. Just come inside for Christ’s sake. I’m rolling up.” He turns around with a smile and walks toward the door and comes in.

He sits on my bed while I finish this joint. I take a few hits and give it to him. “Thanks, mate.” He gets up and leaves. I close the door behind him. I close it and go to the window. I am stuck in a fucking circle. I look at the streets from the fifth floor and everyone seems small. Small and desperate. Everybody’s wearing work clothes, eating. Fish ‘n’ ships. Sandwiches. They’re all walking. Fast. From nowhere, to nowhere. Their lives are even worse than mine. They’re stuck in an infinite loop of work and depression. I’m just bored is all.

I go to the terrasse where the non-expired food lies. I pick up the casserole and go back inside. I look for a spoon, a clean spoon, and sit down. I get back up and close the blinds, Sit back down, close my eyes, and start eating. The food tastes better in the dark.

I ate it all. There’s nothing left. A huge fucking casserole and I ate it all at once. I leave it on the table with the rest and call my parents. I tell them the maid has to come. They say they’re busy but they’ll call him as soon as they can. The maid will probably be called in a week or so.

I pick up the book I started yesterday, Absurde by ALBERT CAMUS, and sit down on my bed. I seem to only like philosophical and depressed shit. Burroughs, Camus, Hemingway, Bukowsky, Kafka. Maybe I’m just like them. Maybe I’m worse than them. Maybe I just envy their lifestyle.

I read for what seems like an eternity and then, at once, I see, out my window, light coming back. I see light coming back in my neighbors' flats. I turn on mine. The fucking power’s back.