The man was drunk, sober from life, slammed though the car screen, hangover from his detrimental thoughts, feeling his dick in his trousers, but nothing happens, a trickle of seamen dripping from his face, while the girls were waiting, he let them be.
A pounding hearth in his throat, a knife in his memory, nowhere to go, except the streets, again the streets, he hit the night, went underground, saw her standing, but forgot why he was searching her. Started a fight, wrecked his car, or someone’s car. He could not remember if he had one. He lost a shoe and limped through the cobbled alley.
The riddle came closer and nothing could touch him, except his own weakness, reflected through a greasy stained peepshow window, and what he saw he despised as coke on the toilet seat. He flung his coat, removed his pants, and screamed to the people. Got busted, once or twice, got released on bail, and before he knew, was back on the street, running for dope without cash to pay for it. Sucking dick sucks, crossing the line, sniffing the sorrow, draining the pipes.
No one to care, not even the craws could give a damn. Damned by his mother, forgotten by his father, an empty apartment, no electric to spare, a ceiling with stars, mold painting destitute patterns in each corner, trash scattered around to soften the ground.
Green rancid vomit to feed the pigeons, the only residents patient enough, waiting as vultures for redemption or a bite of food. A baby disposed in the garbage, was screaming to object her destiny, but the collectors ignored her.
Dreams wrecked, by boring parties and bad booze, and the only way to forget is to drown in cheap liquor. The city sleeps, while the scum of life is on a train to nowhere, circling opportunities out of reach, handing their last dimes for a wee of crack. There is no tomorrow, the future is for the dull, but here in the gutter, we smell today, as putrid blood through our veins.
I masturbate, but lost my dick, in a fight with destiny. Time shrivels all dreams crumbled in bird seed, eaten by feral rats, the only companions he has. He talks to strangers refrained from response, as they hurry away from him, fear in their stomachs, cowardly running to pretended illusions. Away from the man, who smells like stale urine, whose eyes are cutting wounds in their conscience.
The man was drunk, sober from life. He found a gun, hold it against his temple and pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. No bullets to paint peace on my face only the echo of the metallic click amplified by the empty chamber. No tears either, just one shoe and a burned out taxi, where the whores were boiling in their own goo in the locked trunk.
The city of tears had no pity with the lost. The neon flickered whilst the buzzing sound of electricity provides the noise to frame the scene in a pale yellow fog and oblivion. Newspapers will keep their silence to diverge the attention from the sick white collared fucks responsible for the car roast.
When dawn breaks the night, the rats will retreat to find their thrash filled palaces in the dungeons of the town. The man looks at his friends, and no one looks back. A typhoon is building up, but will pass the city in contempt to visit it. Envy when hearing the airplane moving away from here, it cuts the silence above the streets as a reminder to move on. A gun shot echoes in the far distance, somewhere one shot is an invocation to kill. The second blast to end it quick never comes.
A drizzle of rain started, which will splash away its misery. A silent stream floods the night to cover the streets with black mud. The man throws the gun behind him, and walks away, limping on one shoe. Looking for shelter, knowing it will be another day in hell. Even the rats look away in abhorrence.
[Short written 23rd of October 2020, Hong Kong]