The house at the end of a smokey road begins to exist. Inside on a floor tiled with stains, among a crowd of 60, the discharged army man tells a joke about how he spends his days.
“I shoot them. I shoot 'em all, ya know? Every cow has to die. Every single god damn one. It's tough. What? What's that? No i'm not joking! This is my living we're talking about.”
Eyeball rolls about drunkenly, resting after a long journey on the the pink-haired girl speaking quickly with jumpy movements to a girl group of three.
“Are you listening?”
Legs take me, well, barely, to the girl with pink hair. When I arrive my specially concocted beverage splashes some cold life onto her. The fabric of her dress clings tightly to her skin, and underneath a tattoo of a bird reveals itself.
“What the hell, asshole!”
“Do you want to do this?”
“I said do you want to do this? Come here, walk and talk, get shit splashed on your dress. You know, this.”
My head falls a little bit as I spin around to my next direction, cracking my neck as one of the bands of do-gooders prepares to escort me out of the house.
“TEXT MESSAGE robots in disguise!” echoes in my head as my pocket vibrates, and i'm alerted to a message. It's her. That girl with issues and plans to put those issues to work. If I answer this text perhaps our arms will graze one another, perhaps our minds will meet at a point of hedonism-- The crossroad of hedone, where Lucifer and Artemis meet to hunt piglets. The door swings open as the band throws me out, shouting something that was probably meant to deter future scenarios akin to this one.
Outside a man with jeans that are tights, and hair that is wild, is peeing on the building. I try to ascribe some symbolic meaning to that holy orange-yellow descent. He sees my visual trajectory and smiles a slight smile. His blue hands raise into the air and waft my aura over. It happily obliges and it surrounds us both as we stand inspecting each other.
“Is it time?”
“What do you think you're doing here, man?”
“Is it time?”
“It isn't in the proper order of things to take a gander at the nuts of other men, ya see?”
“It must be time.”
“Yeah, are you going to shake it dry or not?”
My visual field dwells on his black shirt. The rest of the world now comes into awareness, and I notice the greenery that is wet and drooping under him, the house with chips of paint surrounding the window sills, the cars encasing the slim walkway in front and behind me. Dreidel, dreidel, dreidel. Only my mind spins. It spins first slowly, then with haste and vigor, then the cars and the house cease to be separate and the sky takes me in, until the stars are spinning and alive with motion just for me.
“It's time to live again.”
“Go to hell.”
The roaring of the house band begins and his eyes perk up as he zips up and goes in to hear. I have no choice, but to let the heavens envelop my thoughts as I make my way into the past. The past of four hours ago, when I stood on a roof, pacing, trying to decide whether or not I wanted to decline.
“I'm a social climber, climbing downwards, and the descent is difficult!.” Those Ferlinghetti words were my words as I screamed to the academics below, my planned castration.
While my mind dances among the meteors and celestial debris, my body repeats those words that allow me to ascend. I'm a social climber, climbing downwards, and the descent is difficult.