He asked, and got one too. It was that easy. It was that fucking easy man. The grey snugly fit shirt was ready, the ill fitting black jeans that were so gross were ready, god knows what shoes I wore but I’ll bet they were ready too. Boy did I look sharp that day.
Everything was ready. The A game was brought, the shirt and jeans notwithstanding. A few beers, vodka, cigarettes and conversations about teenage masturbation and counselling for pedophiles later, this was a runaway success. From exchanging names at the comedy club in a mall a few months ago, we sure had come a long way. Little did I know just how long and far we still had to go.
Because life hits you with these jolts that good or bad, are so hard to deal with. Just when you think you’ve got this shit figured out and you’ve recovered from that last jolt, BAM! Another one slaps you in the face like James Deen’s cock.
I digress. Apologies.
Everything was ready. Nay, it was poetic. Literally something out of a crusty paperback erotica. It was a 70 mm masterpiece waiting to be filmed and appreciated. It was heaven, it was hell and everything in between. It was sex, drugs and violence dissected into electrons and bombarded into our lives to create fucking electricity. It was science and faith, matter and anti matter, all at the same time. It travelled faster than the speed of light and yet, when we were together, time seemed to come to a standstill. It was nuclear.
But man has not yet harnessed controlled nuclear fusion. So for the time being, it’s fission that we must make our peace with. Fusion only happens in the sun and you get too close to the sun, you’re gonna get burnt (as Icarus, Sampati and I would learn the hard way, not much of a support group really).
The door is bolted shut. I don’t want to see a human face. Go away, he said.