The first strip joint is so
boring that I almost get a nose bleed, the second one is better but to crowded,
man, it is not my day today, so I decide to get some herbs before I try my luck
one more time.
I enter some shitty bar with
bartender that looks like a fucking retard, I don’t want to go around the
subject so I tell him as it is. “I need some high-quality herbs and I need it
The retard goes back to the
kitchen and comes back with another retard that looks like him but with crossed
eyes, I guess they are cousins or something. I give him the money, he gave me
the herbs, I say: “Tata” and leave.
Ten minutes later, on my way
to the third strip joint, I decide to check the quality, I lit it up, inhale,
hold in, hold in some more and exhale. What the fuck is this? I mean I can’t
work with this shit!
I know that is not a smart
idea to go back but it’s the principle of the matter. I mean if I let it go,
our children will be next, so I go back.
I enter the shitty bar again;
the retard bartender is standing there so I tell him what I feel about the
whole thing. He goes to the kitchen and comes back with the other retard with
crossed eyes. So once again I told the both what I feel about the whole thing.
Nothing, absolutely fucking
nothing, unbelievable, they just staring at me without saying a word. This shit
is going nowhere so I decided to go.
I am out now and getting a few
steps from of the shitty bar while calling a cab to the strip joint. Suddenly i
hear the bar door opening hefty and somebody running behind me, I look back
with the phone at my ear when some fucking big foot punching me in the face.
This punch caught me off
guard, I mean I am flying at one direction and my phone flying at opposite
direction, and i see everything in slow motion.
So the punch is so hard that I
am airborne, I look down and it feels like I am few feet’s up in the air. It’s
not much to do about it so I decide to think happy thoughts.
Hotline Bling, that music
video is really something. I imagine myself in the owl hoodie and the
Timberland yellow boots. Dancing my way in to the night club while girls going
crazy by my moves and throw their pussy on me.
I just can’t stop smiling, I
look down, what a hell, I still have a couple of feet’s left to the ground so I
go back to happy thoughts.
Back to Hotline Bling music
video, I mean all those big size juicy hot chicks, god damn, big ass, big tit,
big lips, why not, they got feelings too you know, they deserve to be happy
And suddenly I hit the ground
with such a force that I feel my balls migrate far away from me, and I notice
that I still, despite the circumstances holding a bag of herb in my left hand.
So i made it to the plane
somehow, i need to calm down so i order whisky to wash down codeine with. A man
with an expensive suit start talking about some boring business convention. I
pretend that I have an ear lock so I can rest a little bit.
Barely close my eyes when it’s
time for landing, the pilot announces: ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Paris!
I am taking a cab straight to
the hotel, at the neighbourhood I usually like to stay. Jacques Bonsergent is
one of my favourites, near by the canal Saint Martin and about 15 minutes to
the Quartier Latin.
At the hotel the same dramatic
greetings, handshake, hug, kiss on the both cheeks, chitchatting while checking
in, one more handshake and finally I am in my room.
Standing there, by the window,
it’s hard to decide, lorazepam or diazepam? Why the hell should I choose anyway
so I take them both.
I check out my phone: E-mail,
G-mail, Messenger, Tinder, Facebook, WhatsApp, Telegram, Instagram, why the
fuck do I have all this shit install? I really don’t know.
I get all dizzy and before I
know it I fall in sleep, shortly after, not that short, more precisely 6 hours
later, hotel phone rings, I guess I was smart enough to order a wakeup call,
Jump in to the shower, quick
wash, brush my teeth, shave my face, shave my balls, jump out of the shower,
looking at the watch, 12 minutes only, god damn that’s good!
Getting dressed, call a cab,
while waiting hitting the minibar, I love those little bastards: whisky, Vodka,
Bacardi, they are so cute so you have to drink them all.
Cab driver ask me where,
"to the Clichy" I say, he laughs, I guess he knows to well about all
the crazy shit, that is going on there.
I don’t know for how long I was sleeping when somebody knocking at my door, unsteady I open the door.
She is standing there, tilting her head and looking wonderful.
“I just want to see if you are alright and kind of apologise”.
I don’t know what to say, I guess I am very surprised.
“You want to let me in?” she asks and smiling.
I can’t believe it, she is in my room. Young and beautiful, life hadn’t get to her yet, uncorrupted. She talks and acts freely, true to her feelings.
I ask if she would like a drink. She nods, she also wants to listen to the movie soundtrack. I am standing beside the table, looking for the song at my laptop.
Then she comes behind me, I can feel her small and firm breasts, nipples hard, slightly brushing my skin.
I move to the wall shelves with bottles, saying that the soda is finished, going out of the room. Passing by the reception, to the wending machines, where I met her for the first time, that night.
When I come back she is sitting on my bed, reading a book, I pour two drinks, hers mostly soda, mine mostly whisky.
She says it’s very hot in here, waving her skirt up and down, I can see her tan thighs and some of her pubic hair. A few hairs curled around the edges of her white lace panties, I try to look away.
She wants me to sit beside her, our shoulders in touch, talking, drinking, listening to music, forgot about the world outside.
I don’t know exactly who made the first move, but I know I was eager, I was hungry for her.
I was tasting those moist, soft lips for the first time, kissing her small firm breasts and ran my hands down her naked, smooth thighs.
She was struggling beneath me, while my hands on her soft throat. Her eyes slowly closed, time to time.
A few moments later, she is moaning, her body shivers and she is burring her nails into my back and screams.
I weak up all sweaty, my heart is pounding, all alone in dark room, the heat is unbearable.
I take a walk to the beach, staring at the moon, thinking. Hemingway tasted his shotgun, Sylvia with her head in the oven and Chatterton drinking rat poison.
Yes, I know, I am a coward, hanging to this, so called life.
The remaining time, which is couple of days before she is going back, I stay in my room, hiding myself as usual.
And the day she leaves I am drunk, sad and drunk, listening to music and seek comfort by rereading my favourites. I turn a page on Hemingway, when I noticed a post it, I see a drawing of a little heart and three words: My funny valentine.