curbdrop out of grace

Falling a Dead

Arms raised back and forth. Slowly. Slowly. The clicks of gears where cartilage meets pain. Fuck fuck fuck. Realize this is from sitting leaned back and uncomfortable all day. Truth is the only comfortable position is in the arms of a mother. But that never happens. But that never happened.
Whirl walks by. "Good nite." Stops and whirl becomes girl. "You staying much later?"
"Just a little longer. I have to finish my goals for this year." I answer as I play with a thread hanging from one of two band aids on my right ring finger. "I cancelled a meeting today just so I could get this done, but you know how it is." No she doesn’t. She doesn’t know fucking shit. I glance at the south east corner of my monitor and it tells me it’s far past her place here. No one would believe me if I told them she was still here past 8:30. She is one of them: a jobber. A Fiver. Whatever the fuck you want to call someone who glides through work without a care. It’s because she can. And I hate her for it for sheer jealousy.
"Well I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t stay too late.’ She smiles as she turns head and body whirling towards the door.
Fuck you. I will stay as late as my pathetic life lets me. Shoulders roll back. Click click click like the sound of a roller coaster climbing. I stand up to stretch. Man my back hurts but my stomach feels like civil war. I ate some greens for lunch while others ate salad. Healthiest shit I’ve eaten in awhile. Is this hunger or an ulcer? Fuck, sort of takes my mind off my back but not really. More like pain coming in stereo.
I hobble to the bathroom looking down at my khakis barely covering toes and sandal. Right toes blue like balls from a freak accident last week in which I fell off a cat toy. Don’t ask. I should have died on the spot, but instead, I was graced with a pair of broken toes.
It doesn’t even hurt anymore to walk. Not sure if this is good or bad. Blue is a bad sign that nothing is healing. And being numb plants a seed that perhaps I’m still in shock.
I should have told people I broke them while toe fucking a virgin.
I burped a mediocre burp. Maybe it’s gas. Maybe it’s an ulcer. I keep joking to coworkers that I’m not sure whether I’m working towards an ulcer or an aneurysm. Either way maybe it would be a wake up call to just quit. It’s not as easy as it sounds. Look around and you’ll see the common people living the common life hating every minute of it. Sure it’s not everyone. But it’s enough to populate a fun house full of deceptive mirrors.
I didn’t shit today. I just realized as I burp out more waste. I start walking towards the bathroom but I don’t feel it. It isn’t going to happen. So I turn around. Why did I get up anyway? It’s late and the mind wanders outside of familiar territory. No logic sings. On goes my bag. Open. Out comes massive black headphones. Protection from reality. Thumb pressed hard. Twirl. There she is. Amnesiac. Noise of spinning plates clashing against blades. Time to go.
Light exchanged for night as I hobble across streets weaving past the even slower street wanders who mouth words I don’t hear. Why would I give up coin after working 13 hours. Headphones protect me from my sense of humanity. Same fuckers anyway barking each day. Go die already.
One. One and a half. One. Climbing down the subway steps I dare not touch the handle. Disease that rain perpetuates. I cannot risk a sick day. Yet I am.
The silver bullet comes to a stop as I board. Looking around for the least common denominator. Should I sit next to the passed out bum, the guy out of a DMB concert, the asian clone, or stand. I sit next to my DMB friend. He glances over as if I were hitting on him. Calm down. I just want peace.
There’s one decent girl sitting in the aisle cock blocking with a book in hand in disinterested legs, crossed. Too bad. She’d actually be decent. Behind her is another slut. This one older. She’s wearing a dress with legs half wide open. Ha, could have said half closed, but hey I’m an optimist. The older lady is probably not a virgin. She’s got pussy written all over her dirty, wet face. Our eyes briefly connect before I look back at girl #1. I wonder if she would notice if I pulled out the book in my bag. What is she reading? I bet it’s stupid. I bet she’s a fucking idiot.
I see DMB looking out of the corner of his eye. Dude, get off my balls. I try not to look at him. What if he sees me peaking at him? It’s all self-fulfilling paranoia, by each of us.
I pull the tread on the band again. Shit, look at the crust of dust and blood. Peel back and glimpse behind a the soggy layer. Smells white. I can see the patches of skin held in place loosely ready to erode. I put them back. DMB looks at what I’m thinking. I should kill this fucker.
Calm down. Almost home.
DMB looks over at stop #5. We don’t make eye contact. I move effortlessly to the adjacent seats, now empty. Now asian man is sitting in front of me, reading some book. He’s got a gold watch that looks like a grad present from a father who didn’t know any other way to show affection. The watch looks like shit. I look around, embarrassed that the two of us might be viewed to be in cahoots. Truth is, I feel shame for this asian guy. He is nothing more than the same as half a billion others. I have conscious pride for being different. But at the end of the day, is trying a sign of weakness?
Maybe he feels that way towards me. Maybe he is embarrassed of me.
I get up again while train slows, looking at the others looking at me as I begin to exit. Down the steps a line of cattle walk to revolving gates that say "get out go home." My legs make bold strides to make up for the deficit of limping. God I want a cigarette. But I count in my head. One fish two fish red fish blue fish. I’ve smoked four already today. And that leaves only a night cap. Billy once asked me why I was quitting. "You know drinking lots of water does wonders with cancer." Maybe that wasn’t an exact quote. Something ridiculous.
People always congratulate when one claims to being quitting. Or at least trying. I think cigarette companies should be congratulating when one starts. "Welcome to the club. Mi casa su casa. Sic Semper Tyrannis."

posted by fillshe @ 10:02 PM