On Being Alone

I enjoy my solitude. Being alone gives me time to look at the world on my own terms. I can look out of the window in my apartment and see hundreds of people walking around on the ground. The people of the world! Lovely specimens they are. So predictable, yet with open hearts. I enjoy watching them all.
Sometimes when I'm alone I might call my girlfriend, but only if it's Friday or Saturday. It's best for the two of us to be seperated for the remainder of the week. If I don't call her every Friday or every Saturday then no doubt I will receive a call from her, and she will lay into me. By the time our conversation ends, words like "bitch", "cocksucker", and "fuckstick" would most likely be used. Putting all of that aside, we have a great relationship.

Tonight is Sunday, so I won't be calling her. I didn't call her last weekend either, so Denny would end up ripping me a new one anyway.

Denny is her name.

If I'm alone, I'll sometimes remember when my parents were both alive. I have always lived the way I do. Somewhat of a minimalist. My parents, on the other hand, had money. They had land, they had toys. A huge house, pool. Vehicles of different kinds, and they would use different cars whenever they went out to a fancy restaurant.

I loved my bastard parents.

We were quite close. My dad and I would play sports in the yard. Sometimes my dad would show me how to do a curve ball, and sometimes my dad would show me a guarentee football play to use if my team was ever down six points. My mother relaxed most of the time, but made sure the house was always clean. It was a very typical rich family.
Once I turned nineteen I left the house. I graduated highschool, and decided to move into the city. I didn't need and I didn't want a big apartment. Just something that would make life easy. I also wanted to be close to the action. The sounds, screams, and celebrations of downtown made for daily entertainment. I didn't care much about television, because I was living in a world where something was happening all the time. I loved the place I found to live in so much that I am still here.
My parents died when I was twenty two. It was a car accident. My mom and dad took their 1950s Jaguar out for the evening. It was about 9:30pm, they were just leaving the Gladstone restaurant. Little did they know that ten minutes later they would be fatally struck by a drunk driver. The size of the car they were in didn't give my parents a chance. Thankfully the drunk driver was also killed instantly. This saved me from eventually serving a life sentence in jail.

I still haven't forgiven her.

So if I am alone, and there is nothing going on, I think about my parents. It doesn't make me sad much anymore knowing they are gone. I don't have any bad memories, so I usually smile when I think of them.

Bring Out The Living

The rain was falling hard. I could hear each drop hit the roof above me, and then, that drop ricocheting off of the roof and hitting the roof again. They could have been pellets from a gun, but the rain created no fools. When it came down you knew. I got up from my pleasant spot to look through the basement window. It was a difficult angle, but amidst the rain there was an orange-red sky. Quite beautiful.
If an orange-red sky could make a sound, it would be the sound of rain falling. Thick globules of moisture sent from Jesus to give life to the dead He created. There is a purity in creation that only He knows about. It destroys my ability to think, really. I appreciate all of it. The sound is an orchestra that no brass instrument could create. I stood in my basement, peering up through the shades of the window.
If one outside could see me, they would see the face of a curious child. A twenty eight year old child. I could imagine that if a person saw the expression on my face it would turn them into a curious child as well, and cause them to knock on my door. Or perhaps my door would be open and the stranger might walk in. They would shake the wet from their hair and clothing, like a dog. Perhaps it would be a dog, in fact.
Indeed. A dog. Man's best friend joining me to enjoy the creation of God's beauty. The rain. The sky. Visions and audios both illuminating the scene.
"Well boy. We sure got it made, don't we?"
The dog would probably just stay silent, knowing the goodness of what we were witnessing.

Rain, rain, stay right here. Never go away. Anyone who says otherwise is an asshole.

I shook my head. I was still alone. The way it has been for a while. At least up until I realized where I was. In the middle of a bar, with people. I was never in the basement at all. I was on the second floor of The Mosquito. It was a free cover night, and I am almost positive someone spiked my drink. What else would cause this hallucination? I jetted up immediately, leaving my drink where it was, and ran outside.

It was dark. Buildings all around. Quiet. Nothing.

This had to be the dream. This couldn't be real. It couldn't be my reality. So I ran back inside the Mosquito, and caught a scantily dressed woman picking up my beverage.

"Hey now. You could ask me to buy you a drink." I say as I approach the woman. Probably a whore.

"Woof", she says.

Woof.
What the hell is going on...