The bedroom
A bed is there,with the sheets thrown all over the floor.a bicycle,an expensive carpet and tons of books are the perfect scenery for a 35 year old guy,named james corduroy and his beauty sleep.
As soon as he wakes up,he groans in pain as a result of last night’s chase of passion,feels his head,checks for any booze left in an empty bottle of scotch,lights up a cigarette and smiles confidently.
-to my funeral then,he says and moves quickly into his shower.water is heard and steam comes out and into his bedroom.music is playing loudly while he gets him self clean,something classic but rock n roll,like a forgotten ian dury song.
He dries himself with a towel with his initials written on it and turns on the tv,while rolling a joint-which wont be the last for today- and eating honey cereals,an everyday ritual,done for the last time ever,as far he’s concerned.
He looks for a while his giant poster of clockwork orange and then he gets distracted by the voice of a gray-haired anchorman,who’s scaring the shit out of him with fake news about economy,politics and crime.
So,it streches for a while.
-what the fuck? Some bastards will never change,i presume. Fuck,i gotta stop talking to myself.
He is now pissed up and in a hurry,a combination of sentiments he never adored.he closes the tv,swears a couple of times,takes the joint,his last 50 bucks and farewells his beloved home with a lovable smile.
-honey,im going.forever.take care.
The house is now empty forever.that is if everything goes as planned.
The talk
Sun is shining pretty good for a day like this,he thinks and decides to live the shit out of the rest of his day by smoking a joint in public.
And getting to know anyone willing enough to chat with him.
He arrives at the closest park,turns on his i-pod,puts on some tom petty songs about death and love and sets fire to his joint.a black fellow is his sole company ,who has just woken up by the music.
As he seats confortably at the bench,he realizes the old black beggar will come,even without asking.a few seconds later,he knows he was right.
-hey man,got any money?I wanna eat something..i’ve got kids.
-hey dude,i got 50 bucks and you can have them.but you don’t care about eating or about your children,that is if you got any.if you want to,you can take the money,find me a day’s pot,5 beers and the rest is yours,(he replies and looks the black dirty guy in the eyes.)
-man,you got balls.(he laughs).you went for the fucking eyes.alright man,i ;ll see what i can get.wait over here.
-cool.(he gives the money).hey,whats your name?
-syl.
-cool.im james.get back quickly syl or i will find you and i will fuck your lady.
Syl stops walking and turns in surprise.
-how do you know i got a girl?
-it’s all about a girl,man.men with balls and broken cause of daughter dreams live on the road.other people take divorce,but you roll old school.
-he,he.never thought about it this way.never thought about it this way.will be right back jimmy.
-cool.
J.c. Gets up,stretches himself happily and smokes simultaneously his joint.he dances slowly like a rock star in the rhythm of a song.
Syl gets back.
-hey,white boy.got our stuff.
-hey,welcome nigga.so,whats your story,morning glory?
-jimmy boy,i will tell.but first,two things.lets roll a joint.
(they roll a joint)
-now what?
-now…(syl punches him..j.c. Gets up and asks him why?)
-im sorry man,but you brought back so much pain.i cant handle it any more.you can me punch me back,its alright.i don’t mind.(he starts to cry)you treated me well and i punched you.im sorry man..punch me,please.
-no,that’s ok,man.lets talk..i don’t giv a shit about my body.i drink,smoke and destroy myself in any way i can.i don’t think a punch will make the difference.now,tell me.
(syl kisses his hand,stops crying and looks him in the eyes and starts to wave his hands showing to the sky)
_look,man,she’s a nympho.i was once a married man,working at the post office and all that shit.i had a white house and a family.then,i found out that my wife was th bitch of every guy in the hood.she was a whore man,addicted to sex,before me.i thought i could save her.i gave her all she wanted,but it wasn’t enough.we had a daughter,marilyn.my wife;s last name was monroe,so we decided to make our daughter the next marilyn monroe.you get it,man?We were happy.
And then,she fucked every guy she knew.
I just couldn’t take it,man.i beat th shit out of her and watched our 16 year old daughter leaving us.
The last 4 years i live here,where i don’t give a damn about anything except from booze and the privilege of sleep.that’s all i remember and miss man,a night of good sleep.
-here’s the keys to my apartment,take it.pull yur shit together and call your child asshole.im sure she misses you.
-what?
-are you deaf,nigga?Take the fucking keys.
-but?
-but what,sylly boy?I am done with the fucking place.its yours now.get a lawyer to write it to you and here’s all the papers you ll need.
-man,i never believed in god.but,now,i have just witnessed his glory.thank you lord.
-are you stupid or something?Say it one more tim and i might change my mind,
-im sorry man,im sorry.its just that..hey man,who are you?
-im james corduroy.remember?Jimmy boy?We met like half an hour ago?
(j.c. Sets fire to another joint)
-i know man,i know.and i will always remember you.but,whats yous story?
Why are you leaving your home?
-cause im dead.that is,as far people are concerned.and you ‘d better keep your mouth shut or i will fuck your lady.
-ok man,ok.whatever you say.youre the man.but,why do people think youre dead?
-it’s a long story,man.really wanna know?
-hell yeah i do.you just been god to me.i wanna know your story.
-look,man, knowing stuff isn’t a fucking power or a bless.its a curse.so,i will ask again.do you wanna know my story?
-man,im not gonna move,talk,piss or hear anything unless you tell me everything you want to.im your slave.tell me.
(j.c. Slaps him.then,he gives him the joint)
-this was for getting me pissed.stop thinking youre in a fucking opra show,smoke some grass and relax your soul and your ears,cause youre about to be treated with the way i fucked my self.give me respect,not submission.asshole.are we clear?
-sor..
-yeah,i know,you re sorry.fuck.look,man,i gotta head to my funeral.i ve got like 30 minutes to kill.shut the fuck up and listen.ok?
-ok.
