The sun always sets and rises.Stars come out,fewer every day.Neighbors will tell you goodmorning and to “take care of your -always pooping-dog”.Newspaper time,right before breakfast.Headlines about the power and misery of the world and the little news about the charm and beauty of a falling actor who’s just given up drugs or the new release of a pop-star’s record,whose popularity is not even remarkable.
Fuck.
Why bother and read these shit?
My mind always gets badly triggered in the mornings.
I say don’t you have an opinion of your own,man?
I say cant you make sense without a stupid guideline?
Cant you read between the lines,without the stupid lines?
Cant you see everyone is useful as long as they play along,don’t complain and pay their taxes?
Doorbell.drrrrrrn.
My door invites me to a morning surprise.
Final question comes in mind.
Why does the fucking doorbell have to always sound so fucking irritated?
Why not choose a more soothing sound?That would be a nice future job.I might as well place an ad tomorrow and result-laugh.
“WANTED woman who is willing enough to get to record her orgasm for a doorbell sound.Fee:an orgasm.Ages 15-45.Blondes have to get a blowjob too.”
Drrrrrn.dddrnnnn.
“ok,ok,i get it”.
The door opens.
Time stops instantly.
A shadow appears and in a very stylish and silent way turns into a 35 year old man,with rayban sunglasses and brown long hair.
Man,i got to stop the pot.
His look is certain and straight.
I don‘t know him,i think.
He doesn’t seem hostile,yet he gives me the creeps.
“hi.you must be wondering what the fuck i want,8 ‘o clock in the morning,standing here,looking at you and smoking”.
Self-confident son of a bitch i think to myself
And i protest slowly:
“but you aint smoking man.”
A match comes out of his right pocket and answers my question.
“now i am”,he replies slowly.temperature goes high.
He smokes deeply and makes his throat hurt.He waits and then I say.
-so,what do you want?
-let’s chat,baby boy.ask me inside.now.
The iron smile of a 45er makes me shut up and swallow my ego.
“he cant kill me,he cant kill me”,i think all the time.it’s the middle of the day,neighbours saw us,he cant be that crazy.
Anyhow,we end up inside,in my living room.
Scotch on the rocks, he says and no funny moves.
We gotta talk,he says.
Who the fuck is that guy,i keep asking myself.
Once his lips got wet,he asked me to put on some music.
“and not the pretentious crap kids love these days”,he added.
Guess we have something in common,after all,i think.
Faith no more or 16 horsepower,i asked.
Whatever,he says really calmly.
Man,i thought.
This guy was drinking my whiskey,threatened me with a gun,might even kill me and still,i cant seem to think something bad about him.
His looks and skills have something hypnotic.
The chat began right when i sat.
He offered me a cigarette.we were now both smoking and acting like true pals who havent seen each other for a long time.
A lot less awkward than expected.
With his face staring thoroughly at me,he disarmed his gun and apologised for his behaviour.
But it was necessary,he explained.
He smoked passionately and then took off his rayban and for the very first time,
His “glass” eye was revealed.
That’s when it hit me.
I know this guy.
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