Thursday, 31 December 2015
A few more hours and we'll be in a new year. It passed by so fast. Feels that time goes by quicker than it used to. Maybe it's due to all this technology that we end up doing more, but less, and that's where our moments go.
A few more hours and everybody will start doing their resolutions, like drinking less, eating healthy, going to the gym, you know, the lot. Of course, that will only last a month, two tops. Then we'll start hoping the new year will come soon so we can start our resolutions again.
A few more hours until we spend a weird amount of money that won't do us much good.
A few more hours and we'll either be happy or we'll be disillusioned and sad in a corner, on some funny looking sofa.
A few more hours...
Wednesday, 30 December 2015
Just look at all these girls. I mean, really?
Of all the parties that I've been to, this is the most sausage free one.
Girls at the bar, girls behind the bar, girls in the garden, girls on the floor, girls...
Either they're expecting a lot of males or I'm in the wrong place.
It looked nice, but right now I'm the only guy around. And there were no bouncers at the door.
Is this a dream? Doesn't feel like one. I'll go ask the bartender girl what's this about.
Man, there's a shitload of perfume in my way. I'm sure if it was like steam or fog, I'd need a chainsaw to go through this sucker.
"Hello," she said with a smile on her face.
"Hi. Is this a ladies night only?"
"Then how come there aren't any males besides me?"
"It's a ladies' bar."
"Oh... So all the girls are..."
"More or less."
"Uh-huh. Didn't know this existed."
"It's been here for a number of years."
I don't know if I should stay or go. Look, but can't touch. I think I heard that before.
Tuesday, 29 December 2015
There's always this talk about wanting to move forward with your life via your job. In a way it makes, but what if your next job is worse?
And before that happens, there's the other question: What am I going to do next?
Whenever you change jobs, you have to have that question, and then you start making lists of your skills and traits and whatnot.
I remember talking to this guy who was in the process of changing his job.
"What do you want to do?" I say.
"I don't know. I don't like anything."
"Surely there's something. What are you good at?"
"Yeah...that's not a skill I'd recommend to people."
"How about you turn into a clown? People expect to be entertained by them. Or a comedian."
"I'm not funny. I could try being a clown, though."
And that's how he became a clown. He's enjoying himself, as weird as that sounds, by shaking people's hands with the buzzer in his palm, by spraying water in their faces, especially children's, by letting them touch his red nose and see how embarrassed they look when it makes fart noises. Yeah, he gets a kick out of it.
Me? I don't know. Haven't decided. I'll have to find a friend to figure me out.
Monday, 28 December 2015
"Hey there, Muriel."
"Tell me you've heard about Jackal, Blanche."
"Jackal... You mean Siggerd's son?"
"That naughty toddler, yes."
"Has he done something worse than what he did to those cats?"
"He has. To some children."
"He found two babies wrapped up in their garments, ready for their mother, when he appeared and stole them."
"Then he unwrapped them like they were little gifts."
"You mean to tell me that he left them out in the snow?"
"He also threw them in the middle on a frozen pond. By the time the authorities arrived, the small ones were not breathing."
"What is happening to the devilish one?"
"He is thrown into a children's state penitentiary. And his parents will lose custody of him."
"He should die."
"Michael!" I shouted, forgetting that someone else is inside the house and that would make him aware that I'm awake. "Michael!" I went again, this time getting off of my ass.
I heard a scream from upstairs. It wasn't the type where you see a spider, or someone comes from behind and taps you on the should, but more of the "Someone's dying" or "Help me" kind.
My first instinct was to go up and see what was going on. My second one was to get out of the house.
I kept looking back and forth between the stairs and the door, then I put one foot towards the steps, but I rolled my head around and headed to the exit.
It opened without a problem. I could see my salvation looming me with open arms.
I brushed the sole of my right foot on the porch, and as I did so, I felt the energy growing in my body. I knew I had to leave. The left one followed. I left without shutting the door.
I haven't seen Michael since. It's been over ten years, and I don't think he'll show up.
As it turned out, the house was haunted.
Sunday, 27 December 2015
Ben is 25. Up till Christmas he has done everything right. He studied something important at uni, such as Economy. Through that he found a job as a banker. It wasn't the most glamorous of places to work in, or positions to have, but it brought him fortune, stability, and the ability to have his own place. A nice little one bedroom flat, with kitchen, bathroom, and everything you'd need to have a healthy life and space to pursue desires, like building robots from cardboard.
Sure, it made him geeky, yet you have to have a weird passion in life in order to feel alive, right?
He though the same, until he ran into Rebecca. She became his muse. And did it feel like it.
Whenever the alarm would ring, he would spring to his heels like those toy marching band soldiers that rise from boxes, and do twenty push-ups. Just like that. His biceps were ripped for the first time.
One shiny morning, on the 20th of December, as he was buying presents, he received a text message from his workplace. "I regret to inform you, but as of today you no longer work with us." From Melissa, the assistant of the branch.
Three trickles of water poured down his cheek and made him question himself. He either had to continue and pretend like it didn't happen, or give up and have a rubbish holiday.
As easy as it was to give up, bitch, moan, he wanted his girlfriend to be happy. And he wanted to be happy himself. He knew that once he'd go down the complaining path, he'd feel sorry for himself.
Things turned out well. He was offered a job in the first week of January, in a more advanced position in a different bank, and he never looked down since.
Friday, 25 December 2015
Kids all round
the fuzzy tree
with eyes dropping
from staying up the night
waiting for their prezzies
so they can do the fun fight.
and Santa's lost an inch
he put stuffing in there
just so people won't talk
but they all know
when they hear the
"Ho, ho, ho".
And the mistletoe's
Some need it,
Some use it,
Others excuse themselves
as if kissing someone
bring them great taint.
should be cheerful
everyone should have smiles
to the moon
have a laugh
and look at those chestnuts
crack and peel
under the red pyre.
Oh, it's Christmas
It'll be a great day.
Thursday, 24 December 2015
As we were under the table's cover, we heard some bangs crash down the stairs. I could hear the alarmed breaths of my friend as I covered my mouth. I could get emotional easily.
I could see a light seeping in through our plastic hideout. It approached the table. Michael grabbed me and we were about to run away, when it vanished.
"Do you think we should go out?" he whispered.
I shook my head. "Let's wait a little," I whispered back.
So we did that, switching from looking at each other to looking on our sides, hoping it wouldn't reappear.
I don't know how much time passed, but my eyelids were going down. I raised them only to see that his were down. His head fell on my shoulder. We were embraced. It was warm. Despite the awkward position, with my knees under my thighs, I my eyelids collapsed as my forehead went against his shoulder.
When I woke up, I found myself on the floor, the table sprawled around, and no Michael in sight.
Wednesday, 23 December 2015
I remember a long time ago, when I was 6, and I was living with my parents in this countryside location. A remote farm area where there were four houses joined together in a sort of a U, with only one entrance in the whole thing.
The landlord and his family had one house, my folks another, the third went to a family with whose kids I used to play every day, and the fourth one had been empty for over a year.
Anyway, the weather was nice on this particular night. Every time I asked about that place, my mom would refuse to tell me why it was like that.
I decided to go together with Michael, one of the kids, inside.
We grabbed a flashlight and marched to the front door of the establishment.
He rolled the knob and pushed the wooden opening.
The air smelled like the it had stayed the same since the owners moved out. I turned on the flashlight and I saw a few crawlers move around. Made my soft skin itchy.
We moved up to the stairs when we heard a noise from above. Then the door shut itself with a loud clap. We looked at each other, raised our Adam's apples, and hid under a big table in the middle of the hall, that was covered by this red, plastic-like, material.
The steps were brisker and sturdier. All we could do was to turn off the flashlight and hope.
Tuesday, 22 December 2015
Has anyone ever wondered why we all keep buying stuff we don't need?
You buy a guitar because you might want to learn it, but then you sell it due to a lack of time and talent. A loss of money.
You buy alcohol to feel good, then you end up drunk. You buy some greasy food that usually contains meat like chicken or pork, and eat to get your bearings back. Some people take some pills beforehand, and their hangovers aren't as troublesome.
You go to a strip club and spend absurd amounts on a girl who will shake her cups for you. You're not allowed to touch. And you have the permission to get a kick out of it.
You buy drugs for the same purpose you buy alcohol. However, this thing will mess with your mind. You will sell your valuables, your body, your sister's body, your friends, for a small slice of happiness. That isn't there.
A new TV pops up with a price-tag of four digits, and they all want you to buy it. What does that have that your usual TV doesn't? Do you really need those extra tidbits? Your life was just fine without them, right?
And no, you're not wasting your money on these things, you're wasting your time. By the time you realize that, you're over a certain age, people look at you with different eyes, and you wonder how you can change yourself.
Monday, 21 December 2015
Remember that time when you did something you thought you had, like a dance or a move or a joke, in front of a lot people, and fell?
It felt like shit, right?
You wanted to close your eyes, curl up like a child, and teleport yourself in your room, right?
It felt like shit, right?
You wanted to close your eyes, curl up like a child, and teleport yourself in your room, right?
Would that have made you feel better, confident, safer?
What if, instead of that, you did something different?
What if, instead of that, you did something different?
What if you played what just happened as something that you wanted to do?
You know, improvise it a bit.
It all stems from the eyes.
If you look away from others, if you look down, up, absent, you will fall. Again and again. That's not cool, right?
Nothing cool happens with defeated eyes.
Sunday, 20 December 2015
I know there are four more days until you come into our home.
I don't know what mommeh and daddeh have said about me, but I've been good.
I am doing my homework every day, I am eating my vegetables, including those nasty sprouts. I am playing and training the cat. It likes to run more than to sleep.
I wonder if I can braid your hair. Will you let me do that?
Mommeh said that she will make special cookies, and put special milk. I don't know what that mean. I hope you can still eat them.
I can't wait to meet you,
P.S. I hope that whatever you bring me will be nice. I want to be surprised.
Saturday, 19 December 2015
One morning I went for a run. Nothing special. Close to 9 am. The wind's rustles didn't dent my step, although that had more to do with me being surrounded by buildings than anything else.
I was close to turning a corner that would lead me closer to the park, when some kids popped up from a side alley.
"Excuse me, Sir. Would you like to..." A slightly chubby boy of about 14, wearing white clothes with logos from well-known brands, said that as he let me know that he had a white piece of paper with the words "Donation" engraved on it.
"Sorry. I'm already donating." I said as I nonchalantly went past them. That was true. But not to their cause.
After I turned the corner, I heard something. Some guffaws and keys being banged against another metallic object. I looked behind. There was this kid, a mate of the previous, chasing me with the same piece of paper, going at it with full throttle, even though I wasn't going fast. I started smiling.
I slowed down, enough to have him reach me and not be out of breath.
"Would you like to donate?"
"I like what you're doing, but I can't. I'm not making enough to do so. Sorry about that." It was the truth.
He stopped afterward, while I increased my pace. Sometimes you can't help people, as much as you want to. I appreciated his approach. I think he'll go far.
Friday, 18 December 2015
The sun brisked its shine through the top floor window. The clock hit 4:58 in the morning.
As the natural light rose, it revealed the walls, inch by inch. The blackness turned to red. The charcoal to velvet.
The bright glimmer hit a silver object and had its light refracted.
5:00 happened and the alarm rang. The kind of repeated ring that you'd hear in movies and annoying people's phone tones and wonder what's wrong with them.
Loud bangs came through the wall. "Quiet down," was heard from below.
The strawberry-colored shade started sliding down like a compote on a plate.
The reflected light grew; somewhere, an ant was being killed.
5:02. The alarm was louder than a rooster in soprano mode.
"Open up," someone said from beside the door. "I'll call the police if you don't." The door kept getting pummeled. "You asked for it."
The light dimmed its course over the silver object. The slide did not.
"This is the police. Open up," they said as one of them knocked on the door. After a ten seconds wait, it was sprawled out of its hinges.
Several pieces of woodchip flew onto the empty bed. They looked to their left. One turned around and said to the neighbor "I'm sorry, but this is police duty right now." "What about the alarm?" He replied. The officer's colleague pushed the button. "We need an ambulance, over." He said through his walkie-talkie.
"Nice start of the day. I need a coffee," the first one said, more in jest than anything.
Thursday, 17 December 2015
Alas, the night has come to fruition.
James left home empty handed. Nobody could have measured up to his ego anyway.
Michelle decided to take it slow with the guy, and they had more dates after that. Darla didn't get the job.
Fiona and Ryan became pillow-pals. They kept at it for a while. The assistant wasn't upset about him being left standing, but he quit his job three months later.
The bartender did the same thing. The poet helped him. They started a business together, where they making poems on the spot. It's working well.
By the time Christmas came, everyone was happy, apart from James. He could never be happy. If cloning were possible, he'd want a female version of himself.
Dating events in pubs, certainly not for everyone.
Wednesday, 16 December 2015
"Hey, Darla. I just met this guy and he's..."
"Michelle? Do you even know what time it is?"
She glances at her watch. "10 pm. Early. I know you stay up till midnight, at least."
"Usually, but not every day. Tomorrow's a big meeting and I wanted to wake up early to do some stuff. Anyway, what's with this guy?"
"I'd rather just tell you later in that case."
"You already woke me up and told me half of the story. Do you actually think I can fall asleep without knowing the rest?"
"No. So, I'm at this dating thing in some pub, and I didn't have any hopes for anything to happen. Then this guy decided to come up to me and we've been talking ever since. That was maybe two hours ago."
"That's great. How can I help you?"
"Ah, well, no. I wanted to share."
"Okay. Let me know how it went tomorrow. Enjoy your fun. Bye."
She hung up. Michelle was looking at her phone. "Damn. I actually wanted to know what to do with him, but I forgot to ask her that," she thought. "I'll figure it out." She exhaled and left the toilet.
Tuesday, 15 December 2015
Cute girls shy of guys
males chatting themselves up
alcohol mixed, poured, and sipped.
They all act like they're a drag.
Isn't this supposed to be an event,
not a regular night out?
Where's the mingling?
Where's the jiggy-jiggy music?
I might be wasting my time here.
I might have raised my bar.
The bartender's here,
sitting on a chair,
I'm sure he's a nice guy.
Let's cheer him up.
I startle him. As expected.
He glances at me,
Drives his eyes to my drink,
"Hey, mate. What's going on?"
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Until I saw you."
"I'm flattered, but I like girls."
"Nah. I mean you're glum."
He drinks from his glass.
"It's this job.
Some people just bring you down.
Takes a while to recover."
"Why don't you change your employer?"
"Not that easy.
I will. Just waiting for the right time.
Or when my gut says so."
"That's the spirit.
What you doing later?"
"I have to close the place. Midnight."
"How about you say you have a problem
and we bust out of this limphole?"
He looks at me, eyebrows raised.
Downs his liquid, stands up.
"I don't drink.
I don't know where you wanna go,
but I sure hope it's better than here."
Monday, 14 December 2015
"You know, we've been talking about me and what I do, but you haven't even given me your name."
"Ryan. Speaking of which, there was one guy you looked at before we came to this table, Fiona."
"He is...my assistant. He's the one that insisted we get here."
"And you left him."
"Well, not like you paid any attention to the guy. He'll be fine, anyway. So, what do you do?"
"Let's say I'm a freelancer. I like what I do, although it's not really making me much."
"How do you pay the rent?"
"I get by. I am doing better than I thought I would, actually. I could do better, though."
"We all would, right?"
"In that case, how about something to eat?"
"Sure. Not from a pub. Let's go somewhere else."
Ryan smiled. He stood up as if someone kicked him in the butt. Fiona grabbed her coat and spread it over her shoulders.
They didn't touch hands or elbows, but they left as close to one another as you can possibly get.
Sunday, 13 December 2015
"Oh, look, it's the suited twat coming back for more. Damn. Why is there nothing to do right now but to serve this dipshit? Even his voice is stuck-up. I think this is the type of guy who, once he reaches a certain level, thinks he should be acknowledged for who he is, although very few are aware, and they, too, wonder if he's special or not."
"I'd like a nice vodka with some ice," James said as he approached the bar. The bartender eyed him for three seconds, wondering if he'd utter that word, but when it became clear, he went to pour the almost pure alcohol in the small tumbler.
He returned with it, two ice cubes inside, and handed the glass to the man.
The bartender pressed the buttons on the till, pointed at the card device, and waited for the rectangular object to touch the machine.
They made no further eye contact. They spoke no words between them.
After the transaction was finished, both left, one towards the sea of the outside area, the other to the cramped space of the staff toilet. One had no care in the world. The other was on the brink of leaving his job. He had had enough of the clientele. He knew he could get something more useful, less grating, and with more perks. He simply delayed the action.
Saturday, 12 December 2015
Damn. So many people here. It's shy of 9 pm, and the place is almost flooded.
Several small groups, plenty of single girls, most with their noses in their phones; few checking the surface.
God! How do I even start?
If I approach one I might give the wrong impression. If I stand away nobody will come to me.
I'm overthinking again. Pff... I always do this.
There's one by herself, looking around, sipping some weirdly-colored concoction.
It'd be funny if I'd go there without a glass in my hand. Good thing water's free.
"Hi," she said, raising her eyebrows, revealing her small, hazel eyes.
"I've been looking at your and I was wondering what that drink was."
"Oh, it's a Jaggerpari."
"A single Jaggermeister with a double shot of Campari."
"Oh, right. Aren't you supposed to drink it in one go?"
"Who cares what you're supposed to. It's sweet. I like sweet stuff. I'd rather linger on it."
"But doesn't the disappearance of the sugar rush affect you?"
"Well, kinda. Everybody's energy fades away at some point. It's weird, you know, being told that this or that is not good, yet it's kinda the same."
Holy shit! Although she likes sugary stuff, she's nice. Let's see where this talk takes me.
Friday, 11 December 2015
And here I am.
The place to be
The place to get
and something in between.
Any alcohol I want
in any glass I want.
Any chair I want
at any table I want.
I'm sure if that's a good thing.
But here I am,
at the bar, with
this lovely bloke
in a dark shirt
who doesn't look
all that pleased to see me.
I'd like to start a tab
and have a London Lager
and get yourself one, too.
That's all right now."
Now he's surprised,
his face full of smiles
and manner more relaxed.
I know he's mine now.
And he'll give me a hand
whenever I want.
This place is a bore.
Let's start the party already.
Thursday, 10 December 2015
"Bloody old man. Why couldn't he let me just stay in my room, watch shows, and play video games? Why must I go out? Meet girls he said. It'll be fun. You'll enjoy yourself. What a load of crap. I have to spend a bunch of money on my drink, and then buy her, or them, at least one. Grr... Stupid old foggy."
"Hey, sorry, are you going to buy something? I've been waiting behind you for five minutes now, and you look like you don't know why you're here."
"Huh?" He turns around and glances at the girl that complained. She's wearing a beige office suit with a skirt instead of trousers, and shiny beige shoes where you could see your reflection on them. "I know why I'm here. It's to buy you a drink. What's your name and what would you like?"
She seems to be taken aback by this sudden change. She looks at her assistant, who doesn't reciprocate. "I'm Fiona, and get me a strong beer."
"Gotcha." He reshuffles his head and goes eye to eye with the bartender. "Two of your strongest beers, please."
"So, how was work, Fiona?" he says as he changes his head's direction once more.
"You know, tiring, busy. Like work."
"Do you like it?"
"Sometimes I don't, but most of the time I do."
"Would you change your profession?"
"No. It's what I was made to do. I might change my employer, not the job, though."
"What do you do?"
"Sounds busy alright."
"What about you?
"Here you go, mate. That'll be 9 quid."
"...looking for something at the moment," he says as he taps his card on the device, then takes a pint and gives it to her. "How about we go to a table? That one's for two."
"The one in the corner? Sure. Let's go."
Wednesday, 9 December 2015
"I wonder if they sell ice cream here," Michelle thought. "But on the other hand, it's probably expensive, a cheap brand, and a small thing. And who'd approach a girl eating that in a pub?"
She didn't know where to move, or if she should sit a table or at the bar instead. She wanted to use the ladies, but thought otherwise. "I need something to get me away from this stupid buzz. I'm shivering for no apparent reason. If this caries on, I'll break into a sweat without doing anything worthwhile and leave before I even talk to a guy."
She moves up to the line and waits her turn. "Gosh, what should I have? Vodka, lime, and soda? Aperol Spritz? Mmm, yeah, that's nice...no, I don't want that. It gives the wrong message. What message am I trying to give here, anyway? This is harder than I thought. Dammit."
"Hey, how can I help you?" The bartender said.
"I don't know what to drink."
"Hmm... How about a shot?"
"I'm not a fan of them, although I like Jagger. Do you have Campari?"
"Can you make me a Jagger and Campari mix?"
"A single shot with a double shot?"
As she's waiting, she's looking on her left side. "Not many cute guys there. I might be too early. We'll see. I hope this drink is nice," she utters in her head.
The bartender did the finishing touches and came back. "Here you are."
"Wow. Haha. Looks so weird. Like a brick-like colour." She grabs the small tumbler and sips a little. "You know what? this actually tastes nice. A little too sweet, but that's alright. Can I have an ice cube in there, please?"
"Of course. In the meantime, if you'd like to pay. It's 8 pounds 25."
As he goes to the ice area, she takes out her card and taps the device. "Bloody expensive this. But I like it. I've never had it before."
"Here you go."
"Thanks. See you later."
Tuesday, 8 December 2015
"This looks like such a dump. Ugh. I should have bothered to check. It's so unfit for my tastes...and looks. The good news is that I will stick out and every lady will look at me. The bad news is that they may not be worthy of of mine. I'd better get myself a drink, fast," said James.
The bartender was watching him the minute he came in. Granted, there was nothing else to do but wait. "Look at this twat coming here with his nose pointing right up. He has a fancy suit, I'll give him that. Is this the kind of shindig we'll turn up to be once a week? Yeesh."
"I'd like a double vodka with a lot of ice and some lemonade, please."
As the bartender went to make the drink, James looked around. "The chandeliers give this place a different vibe than the one you receive when you come inside. Interesting. Unfortunately, there aren't many females around."
"Here you go. That'll be 7 pounds 20, please."
He takes out his card and lightly touches the card reader.
"Cheers. Enjoy your drink."
James didn't even acknowledge the guy at that point as he went straight outside, where he noticed a garden.
Monday, 7 December 2015
The manager told us that tonight is date night in our pub. We've never had this before, and I hope it goes well so that we can have more.
I don't know why I'm getting excited since it doesn't really concern or involve me. It's not like some random woman coming here will chat me up. Although I hope she will.
I wonder what kind of people come to date nights.
I've read about them in the past, and I find it sad that they're only in pubs or bars. Do people have a hard time getting along without alcohol?
It's quite sad that these guys are always on social media, telling you how to do this or that, and then come here.
I suppose the marketing for this is "Too busy for a love life? Why not come for a pint and get one?"
It's funny how they get to have fun, while the likes of my colleagues and I have to work. We don't get to meet people on our daily routine, unless someone is really flirty.
Still, whenever I go to pubs, I never see bartenders have suave words with customers, or vice-versa.
So, what about us, eh?
Sunday, 6 December 2015
Dating is something I've never been good at. Although there were nice girls in high-school and college, I was afraid to approach them. Getting rejected, feeling sad, something I had avoided at all costs.
Whenever I watched shows or movies about romantic couples, I would get a glimmer in my eye. I would wonder how it would be like for myself to have a significant other. I figure I'd be happier, that I'd have somebody with whom I could do stuff with. Then I'd get angry when I see some dipshit on the street go with some crappy lines or with a mild aggression and hook up with a girl. Is this what we've come up with? Are nice guys that far behind that they aren't allowed to have a girlfriend, and only be friend-zoned? Who the hell even likes that?
Females are...a weird species. They like to bicker, even though it doesn't make much sense. They like to argue and you are advised not to carry on.
But they also like to make you smile and giggle.
I am a hopeless romantic. I still believe in fairy tales, which is why I'm going to this event tonight. I know it's not where I will find a girlfriend. However, I want to talk to some, at least.
Saturday, 5 December 2015
Roses are sweet
like a girl's lips
after she tastes
I've had a few
too many pints
and I feel like
a bloody bard
Don't know if it's good
I assume it's not bad
not like I'll remember much
when I'll have
The lights are shining bright
The streets are glimmering
with hope and filth
drenched in cold alcohol
spewed with warm cocktails
and roasted with gluten.
I see so many females
holding on to their friends,
on to their heels
as they try to pin down
their low-cut skirts.
Yet another night
But my pavement
No bumpy roads
No broken stones
and the next pub
Friday, 4 December 2015
"Alright. It's been four days since you haven't come out of the room. You took a lot of food with you, some alcohol, and I don't even want to think how you washed yourself or cleansed your insides. And I don't want to know why you decided to open the door just now. Hell, even why there's this smell, your curtains are pulled, and your windows are shut. It's not my concern. Your well-being is.
I know, it's hard having me come here and give you this talk. You probably think it's unfair. Tough is what I say to that. You're a lad in full bloom, and there's no reason why you have to get drunk and eat crap by yourself. You should get yourself a girl. As a thoughtful father that I am, I searched for dating places, and found one tonight. Now come, get washed and get going. You'll thank me later."
Thursday, 3 December 2015
"What do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?" Fiona said as her assistant opened the door without knocking.
"I know. I'm sorry. I simply thought you might want to look at this." He says and hands her a leaflet about get together tonight.
"I don't have for something so frivolous."
"Frankly speaking, you have been working a lot, without break, and you will collapse sooner or later. Neither of us would like that."
"I think you would since I keep making you do lousy tasks."
"It was in the job description, wasn't it?"
"Anyway, I don't have the time to drink with random strangers."
"What if I join you?"
"Are you asking me out?"
"No. But maybe if I will go, you go, too."
"Well, if you want me to go, we have to move double time to finish everything."
"I have no problem with that," he said with cool smile giving way from his calm figure.
Fiona looked at him for five more seconds, then turned to her screen and started typing like mad. The assistant didn't say anything else. He left without making a sound, not that it would have bothered her.
Wednesday, 2 December 2015
Michelle sat under the covers.
She has been doing that for the past three days. Her sorrow took a new turn when the guy she liked humiliated her in front of their coworkers. He pointed out something that she's always felt self-conscious about and made a joke about the thing. Next thing she knew, everyone was laughing while she was trying to keep a straight face. Ten minutes later she asked to go home on the basis that she had a stomach problem. Her lenient boss granted her wish.
Since that time, she has been eating junk food, dairy-based sweets, and done nothing with her life. She let her phone ring for until the battery was depleted, yet she brought the laptop under the duvet and binged on shows and cartoons.
She didn't talk to anyone in this time. Not even her friend, Jess, who used to comfort her at all times. She wanted to be loved by someone other than her friend. She wanted to have that special someone.
She remembered there was an event tonight, and seeing how moody she had been, she decided she'd go and maybe feel special.
Tuesday, 1 December 2015
James is looking at himself in the mirror.
"Primed eyebrows, gorgeous brown eyes, ravishing lips, gentleman's nose, chiseled chin. I look like every woman's fantasy. And they'd want to be with me, not me with them. Very few of them interest me. Now that I think about it, I have met three women in my life that have made me passionate about them. But they all disappointed me not even two weeks in our relationship. It made me bitter. It made me care less about females.
At first it was about them. Now it's about me. I have dates every day, at least a couple a day, and if I see that we don't click, I tell them off and go on my way. I don't care what they're saying. My time is more valuable than theirs."
And like that, he turns away from the mirror, puts on a charcoal grey suit, attaches a black shirt where he unbuttons the top one, a pair of burgundy brogues, and leaves his flat.
Is he going in search of love? In search of delusion?
Only he knows.