The coffee shop is as busy as ever. That's the one thing I hate about it. People. I can't stand them. I prefer my own company, and that's it, but I might as well come in before I go to the Cartoon Network. I finally managed to get some art work done, so I'm in the bustling streets of New York, and it's pissing it down outside. Another reason to come in the cafe - it's dry. Not that I dislike rain, I love it, but I can't risk my art being ruint. My life is practically on the line. This assignment has been long over due for several weeks, and I'm considered lucky to have gotten away with slacking off so much.
Squeezing past everyone around me, I make my way to the que. Of course, as I always do, I get plenty of strange looks. Being judged already am I? Of course I am. This is New York for fuck's sake. A guy wearing all black with eyeliner on isn't the most common thing you'll see in the city. I don't pay attention to thm though, I'm all too used to it. Once I arrive at the front of the que, I'm instantly recognised.
"Wanting the usual, sweetie?" the girl behind the counter who's-name-I-can-never-remember-despite-it-being-on-her-badge asks. I nod, forcing a small smile. Yawning, I wait for my order. I need something to help me keep composure, and caffiene tends to be the best thing to keep me awake. Either that, or a dreadful freezing cold shower first thing in the morning.
I run a hand through my hair, marvelling at it's fluffyness. I'm not used to having it like this, and it keeps shocking me every time I absent mindedly play with it. I'm handed my drink, and I quickly escape the stuffy shop to catch some fresh air. Slurping at my drink, I feel it instantly begin to kick in, and I set off back to the Cartoon Network. As I walk past the twin towers, I gaze upwards, feeling incredibly dominated by them. Stumbling backwards. I almost get the feeling that they are collapsing on me. I shake my head. Of course they aren't.
I sort out my things at work then head back home, finding my old car in the parking lot I left it in. I softly pat the scrapped up silver bonnet before climbing inside and revving up the engine. The drive back to my apartment isn't a long one, and I'm walking the balcony to the place I call home in no time. Glancing at next door, I see it's still for sale. It has been for years. Maybe I should ask Ray if he want's to move in next door. It'd be pretty cool if he was just two seconds away, although I'm not sure he would want to. Rumor has it that it's haunted. I doubt it's true, but everynow and then, I do hear strange noises though the wall. Noises like, doors closing, and sometimes, although not very often, sobbing. I'm sure it's my imagintation though. Well, that's what I tell myself anyway.
Once I'm inside, I gladly collapse onto the couch, pleased with finally sorting out my work. I sit back up, and an eerie chill ghosts my skin. Shivering, I glance around myself, slightly paranoid that I'm being watched. It feels as if there is someone sat here, their eyes boring into me. Maybe it's the ghost next door. Fuck, I'm creeping myself out. I need to stop feeding my brain with nightmare fuel. Sighing, I think about calling Ray to see if he wants to come over for the night. I don't really like the idea of sleeping on my own at the moment.
"Yo, Ray," I say once he answers his cell phone.
"Erm, yeah... what's up?" he sounds strange, as if he's hiding something.
"Wanna come over for a take-out and video games? I'm feeling crappy man, some company would be great,"
"Ah... sorry. I'm uh, kinda busy," he says, quickly turning down my offer for some free booze. I frown. Ray Toro never turns down free booze.
"Doing what exactly?" I ask him. It feels like a re-run of yesterday with Mikey.
"Just, doing stuff... anyway, I gotta go,"
"Okay well wo-" but he hangs up. Asshole.
Already bored and slightly creeped out by the ghastly, unnatural atmosphere around me, I let myself fall backwards and sigh. I could call Mikey, but I have no doubt that he'll be with Alicia right now. Fuck knows what Ray is doing, maybe he's got a girl I don't know about to attend to aswell. I think I'm the only person on this planet who is single sometimes.
Fuck, I proberbly am.
I've been told, too many times for me to count that I need to get out and meet people, that I need to socialize and get a girlfriend. It'll do you good, they say. Maybe you'll get a tan if you go out, they say. Like I'd want a tan. Ha. Fuck no.
I let my mind wander, and I close my eyes. "Hand in mine into your icy blues..." I mumble, remembering the tune I had come up with last night. Maybe I should try finishing it. I mean, it's something for me to do. I shake my head to myself though. I won't get it finished. Since when exactly did I get things done? Never.
With no motivation to do anything, I crawl onto my bed and dig out my old sketch pad. I flick though the old pages, and chew my lip as I frown at how cringe worthy some of my art used to be. Not wanting to end up going back and re-doing all of it, I find a fresh page and fumble around in my drawer for a pencil. Amazingly, I find one that isn't blunt. I wouldn't be able to sharpen it if it was, all of the sharpeners in this crummy apartment are broken.
Whatever it is that I begin sketching seems to be going nicely, even though I haven't exactly decided what it is going to be yet. Two faces, a woman and a man facing each other. It reminds me of a painting I like. I can't remember the exact details, but it had two lovers facing each other with a cloth covering their faces. It's a remarkable painting, certainly one of my favourites. My drawing seems to be following the idea of it, but without the cloth. I start on the detail of the woman. She has short, jet black hair that ends just above her jawline. Her eyes are closed, and her face is twisted up slightly, giving off the impression she is in pain. I start on the man. He also has his eyes shut. He looks upset, as if he's done something wrong. In a way, he looks guilty. When I'm finished, I sit back to admire my art. I frown.
Something is missing.
I can't work out exactly what it is, but it looks as if it is still incomplete, waiting for me to add the crucial last few flicks of my pencil to finish it off. I shrug, not too bothered. Maybe I'll paint it later, and see if I can figure out what is wrong with it.
After ten minutes of zoning out, I end up back in the living room. I pause, seeking out the evil presence I can feel eminatting from a mystery spot in my front room. The ominous chill scrapes my skin making me shiver. Nothing seems out of the ordinary though. It's just my crappy, painfully miniscule living room. The wallpaper is moist and damp, slowly peeling off the walls. Unmatched furniture is gathered in the middle of the small space to create some kind of sitting down area that I spend most of my time sprawled out playing video games or reading comic books. A dark gray carpet covers the floor, covered in small pieces of scattered debree that are long overdue being vacuumed up. The skirting boards are beginning to yellow, dirt gathered on the small space on top of them. Absolutly nothing out of the ordinary.
Just my disgusting apartment that no twenty three year old man should be okay with living in.
Fuck. Sometimes I wish that some demonic Satan goat would just randomly morph in front of me. It'd be cool as shit, even if it did end with my guts spilt all over the carpet.
I've been to Mikey and Alicia's house. Yes, they have a fucking house, the posh bastards. It's much cleaner than here, and I just don't understand how they can keep it that way. There are two of them living there, in one great big (okay, not so much that big as it is only one bedroomed) house and keep it in spotless condition, wheras there is only one of me in an apartment the size of a dog kennel, and I cannot keep the place under control. Personally, I blame Mikey and Ray. I've noticed, over the years, that everytime they decied to crash, the next morning it's as if a tornado has passed over the city.
My stomach grumbles, and I decide it is feeding time. I wander through to my kitchen then look in the fridge. My jaw drops. What the fuck happened to all of my food? Ray. I bet it was. I can't believe him! As if he would eat... all of it... I did say: 'oh go on old chum, help yourself' but I didn't mean he could eat everything but a ball of cabbage.
"Ray you asshole..." I grumble. He's also drank all of my beer. I swear he just trying to piss me off on purpose. He can be so nice and sensitive sometimes, and then he goes and steals all of my food. Does he not know that eating is a compulsary part of life and I need to keep myself nurished?
Looks like I'll have to go to the shop. Yay for me.
The sky has cleared up and it's all sunshine and fucking rainbows when I get there. Just before I enter, something catches my eye. It's a dog. He (I assume he is a he) is sat next to the shop, but doesn't have a collar or a lead. Frowning, I approach the small bundle of fur. He looks up at me, his eyes glinting in the sunlight. Chewing my lip, I glance around to see if his owner is anywhere near by. I don't see anyone, but decide that it is for the best to leave the dog where he is. His owner might be buying something.
The shop is near enough empty, thank fuck. I'm hungry, tired, and not in the mood for glares of disgust at the moment. I see only two people who look like potential dog owners, but both of them leave pretty quickly. If one of them doesn't take the dog, I suppose it is okay to bring him back to the apartment. Just gotta make sure Mrs H doesn't know about him. She'll kill me for bringing an animal into an 'animal free enviroment'.
There is only one other person in the shop other than myself and the clerk. He certainly doesn't look like the type to have a cute bundle of joy waiting for him outside. He's tall, and rather bulky. With a shaved head and a lip ring, he looks kinda scary. Maybe he's an ex-convict or something. Maybe he was in the military. I don't know, but there is something about him that makes me decide to go the long way round to the checkout. I pay for the food I swear to God Ray is not going anywhere near, and make my way out.
The dog is still there.
I approach him, and drop to my knees so I can stroke his soft fur. I couldn't possibly leave him out here, all on his own in this horrible blistering heat. No way. He is coming back with me. I smile at the pup, and he makes a small wincing noise, rubbing his head against my knee. Picking him up in my arms, I take him to my car and set him down carefully on the passenger seat, making sure no one is looking at me. I don't want to be thought of as a dognapper or anything.
Once I pull up in the parking lot, I twist around in my seat to face the dog. I frown as I stare at him for a moment. Fuzzy brown hair, big eyes that can delve into the darkest corners of your soul, very small in size and floppy ears the jostle everytime he moves. He reminds me of a tiny, dog version of Ray. "Ray..." I mumble, taking the name into consideration. I better not. I think my fro friend would be kinda freaked out I named a dog I found after him. Shaking my head, I choose to leave the name debate for later. First, I have to figure out a way to smuggle him into my apartment. At least he's small.
Using his tiny frame to my advantage, I manage to squeeze him into one of the shopping bags I had brought back with me. I take off my jacket and put it on top. I sit back and decide I'm good to go. I gather my things, and get out of the car. I feel strange, sneaking a dog into my own home via a plastic shopping bag. I don't let that get me down though. Hopefully, I am giving this dog a better life, so it isn't on the streets eating whatever it is that homeless dogs eat. Like they say, a dog is for life, not for Christmas. Although, I'm not sure if that saying applies here.
I use the ninja skills I have put on my bucket list to learn, and then walk straight into my living room, and put the shopping away after thowing my jacket onto the back of the couch. When I wander back in, the dog is giving me his soul searching stare. "What's wrong?" I ask him, sparking up a cigarette. He let's out a high pitched wincing sound them trots over to the door. Scratching at it with his tiny claws, he yaps as if something has spooked him. "Yo, dog, you okay?" I step forward. Suddenly, I jerk backwards as I hear a loud pounding at the door. "Shit..." mumbling to myself, I dart to the source of the sound. I think I may have dropped my cig. The door seems to mock me as I stand by it for a minute, scared to see who is waiting for me to answer. My heart is pounding like crazy, and I can feel the adreneline surging though my veins as my hand creeps down to the handle. I pull it open.
The first thing I see is a very angry looking man. A face bright red, fuming and livid, I can almost see the steam shooting out of his ears. It's the man from the shop. "Um, hello?" I ask him awkwardly, just kinda bobbing up and down as I stare at him, pursing my lips. I think I can hear him growling as he glares at me, but it might just be the dog.
"Who the fuck do you think you are?" he yells, getting fairly straight to the point. Pushing me backwards, he steps into my apartment. I may have stolen his dog, but this is my personal space. I don't like it when people invade it.
I gulp, shaking my head then try to explain myself. "I uh, I..." instantly, my brain turns to mush and I have no idea what to say. "I'm really erm, s-sorry?" I blink gormlessly at him.
This time, he does growl. "Where's my dog?" almost as if on cue, the little terror appears out of nowhere. The man scoops him up into his arms, not breaking eye contact with me for a second. "Just why would you take him? Fucking weirdo," he turns to leave, and I stand watching him, slightly... shell shocked. That was probably the most exciting thing that will ever happen in my life, and I'm sure there are other people in the world who have had worse dognapping experiences. I close the door, still confused, terrified and kinda wanting to cry - it was a little traumatic, okay?
Sinking to the floor, I spot the cigarette that I dropped. Luckily, it hasn't set my whole apartment on fire. Although, to be honest, it would be kinda cool if it did. At least I would actually have a 'near death experience' to talk about. The closest I have ever been to dying, is probably death by embarrasment. It's a real thing too, but I'm pretty sure I would be long gone if that was the case. Or maybe I'm just immortal.
I'm a human failure.
Is there even any point in me existing? It's not like I'm accomplishing anything at all. I might as well just crawl into a hole and die. All I do is make a fool of myself. What even deluded me into thinking that taking that dog was okay? I must be going losing my mind. No normal person would be stupid enough to steal some man's puppy. I guess I just have no common sense.
So maybe I'm being just a little melodramatic, but I need a good excuse to get upset every now and then.
My fingers creep out, seeking comfort from anything, anyone, but I'm all alone. There is no one here for me. I dig my nails into the rough fibres of my carpet, and grit my teeth against the tears I can feel emerging.
"Fuck!" I cry out, smashing my fist into the ground. I'm beginning to act like a hormonal teenage girl, but I don't care. I'm pissed off, and going through my early mid life crisis.
Moments later, I hear a strange tapping noise. Eyebrows knotted together, I turn my head to glare at the door. Someone is knocking and trying to turn the door handle. I jump up, and stand confused for a good several minutes before I react. I open the door to see the dog man. "Oh yay, so you wanna humiliate me some more after I steal your dog?" I sniffle. "Because you sure are welcome to, just come in and take the piss out of everything I own," moving out of the way, I gesture for him to come in. He doesn't. instead, he just stands there and blinks at me, giving me a blank expression.
"Uh... dude," he finally manage to mumble. "Are you... okay? You sounded kinda, upset after I left," his voice is softer than before, as if he's trying to make himself sound more approachable. It just makes him sound awkward though.
"I'm fine," I grumble, folding my arms across my chest.
"A-Are you sure? I mean, I didn't wanna like, make you uh... cry or anything..." he looks down modestly. It's as if he genuinly means what he's saying, despite how ridiculous each word sounds coming out of his mouth.
"Does it look like I'm fucking crying?" I exclaim, now even more annoyed. Just who does this guy think he is?
He purses his lips and then shuffles his weight slightly. "No, no, man. That's not what I meant. Listen, do you ah... wanna talk or something?"
"Talk?" I raise an eyebrow up at him. He nods.
"Yeah. Y'know that thing people do to communicate?"
I don't find his joke funny.
"Why would I want to talk to you?" I grumble stubbornly, not feeling like a very sociable person at the moment.
Ten minutes later, I've made both of us coffee, and we're sat down on my couch. He doesn't seem bothered about the disgusting mess I call home, so I decide that he's okay. His name is Bob, which definatly seems to fit his appearence. I've always imagined Bob's to be the scary macho types.
"What are you doing in New York then?" I ask, eyebrows knotting together slightly. We had just been discussing my shitty job at the cartoon Network when he explained to me that he's from Chicago.
"Fuck knows. Road trip, I dunno. Just wanted to get the fuck away from that crap hole I call home,"