Fake Twenties.

Preface – Its been awhile. My bad. That is all.

“It was a mistake.”
“Bullshit. Don’t give me bullshit.”
“Everyone makes mistakes.”
“False, assholes make mistakes. Real people makes decisions. Sometimes they make the wrong decision. They recognize it and learn from it and then that moment of weakness becomes a learning experience. Only assholes say bullshit like everyone makes mistakes.”
“Well I guess I am an asshole then.”
“Yea, no shit.”

Chemically speaking the air by the ocean is heavier. Higher concentrations of sodium chloride forms hydrogen bonds insulating the lighter hydrogen atom and giving strength to “ocean air”. This ocean air forms a thin cloud that covers the rickety little sea town like a translucent acidic blanket. Ionic passage of electrically infused phosphorus cascade from street lamps. Asphalt streets are cracked and moist. Yellow lines turning a softer shade from exposer to sun. Girls in small black dresses transport the aspirations of a generation underneath panties they wore yesterday. The entirety of the human enigma has never been so well summed up as a girl in a tight black dress with two day old panties. A little dirty but still pretty damn good. Probably better.

“Whats the occasion?”
“Same as always.”
“What you got out of bed this morning?”

I am not sure if my eardrum is ruptured or just filled with garbage. Two week old sinus infection boogers and blood, concrete dust, carbon owned by Marlboro. It’s the difference between dolby digital and jack in the box mono. So, I am not sure if I hear her correctly. I am sure I don’t want to hear her at all. I have heard it all before. “Lets get out of here.” Here we go again. I can handle her, alone, but her and her friends, I cannot handle. No one can. Not alone. It would take an army to keep them down. And that is what they are searching for. An army to put them down. Hold them down and fuck them like they did something wrong. Then march out in the morning. All victory and snare drums. With three day old panties resting softly in their back pockets. Unfortunately for them, well probably not for them more for me, I am not an army. So I am not what they want. And this is apparent. Oh well. At least the drinks are free.

“Where are you going bro?”
“Wherever the wrong way is.”

Given this time to think, if it can be called thinking at this point, I think of her. Because we met here. But that place is gone. It doesn’t even look the same. Which is a good is thing. The truth is that if I were to stand in the same spot I stood in then, on those same crooked paving stones, beneath that frayed thatched roof, bathed in florescent pink light, I would probably feel something. Which is never a good thing. I have lived a lifetime trying to avoid feeling anything. I am getting pretty damn good at it. Even now, through the smoke of inebriation, the sands of time, the shit of civilization, the only thing that ever gave me a rise where those goddam eyes bending my insides like a storm. And, if I were to stand in that same spot, it would ruin me all over again.

“My dad died a few weeks ago.”
“I don’t care.”

I would search for something more than black dresses but I am tired of searching. I am tired of drinking and smoking and trying to kill whatever it is inside me that clings to the concept of freedom as nothing left to lose. I had freedom. It wasn’t nothing left to lose. It was having everything to gain. Which is essentially the same thing just looked at through a conceptual inversion. And as I look around I realize that no one here knows what the fuck they are doing and furthermore doesn’t want to know, or even consider the idea that they could know. And I also realize that I desperately want to be one of these people. But I am not. Unfortunately for me I have to consider what I am doing at moments like this. Always a little to late. In flux, halfway down the waterfall, bonded to the conclusion with causation fading like the echo from a shot. Fuck.

“The great tragedy of mankind is that we can be anything and we choose to be the same as everyone else.”

I am not big on regrets. I don’t believe in them. Every once in awhile I am proven right in my assumption to avoid the eccentric and settle with the safe. Being that it is even rarer I settle for the safe. But we do not make mistakes. Just bad choices. I have made a lot of them and the universe often finds ways to sum them up in very neat packages. Like getting punched in the jaw for some girl you don’t even really know. And all I could do was smile because I know I deserve it. Just like the garbage in my ear and the black dresses circling like sharks. I put myself here and claim that I was brought by some unknown force. Bullshit. Don’t give me bullshit.

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