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I look up at the ceiling and wonder if life can be this continuous. My comforter, sheets, everything is a crinkled up mess on my bed and here I am sprawled out on top of it. Suffocating any chance of it being made. My life has some empathy for the forsaken bed. Even the bedroom itself. I get up and look around, Jimi Hendrix, The Beatles, Janis Joplin, all staring me down from the four wall confinement I’ve induced on myself. Then I walk out. View table of contents...


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Submitted:May 16, 2012    Reads: 129    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


I look up at the ceiling and wonder if life can be this continuous. My comforter, sheets, everything is a crinkled up mess on my bed and here I am sprawled out on top of it all. Suffocating any chance of the bed ever being made. My life has some empathy for the forsaken bed. Even the bedroom itself. I get up and look around, Jimi Hendrix, The Beatles, Janis Joplin, all staring me down from the four wall confinement I've induced on myself. Then I walk out.
My mother is a refined woman, her features are of a classic nature, and most find her quite beautiful for her evolving age, all I can really see is decay overlapping her face. She reminds me of a skeleton, walking around, spooking the youth, and making my life an utter hell. She's in our cheerfully colored kitchen. The whiff I get is a friendly one, she's baking something extravagant for one of Todd's cooperate parties. I hardly continue thinking the thought till she intrusively enters my brainwaves. "You're going to get dressed today, aren't you?" Decoding the sentence, I know she's assuming that I already have my day coordinated out; I'm going to sleep, eat a little, see what's on Maury perhaps. But no, I deicide to surprise the hag. "Yes, in fact, I'm going to shower, and probably go out to look for a job or something." Her smug expression alternates into something of astonishment, the timer on the oven alerts her that she needs to retrieve whatever she's stuffed into it, it smells like pie.
I'm showering when suddenly thoughts of Alicia hit me like a cannon ball straight to the chest. Her touch, her kiss. Everything seemed absolutely right when she was around me, inside me. The fantasy of it all. I scrub the last remaining hints of yesterday and then get out. Why am I thinking of that slut anyway? She used me heartily and shamelessly at that. Relationships never have been my forte, they actually scared the shit out of me. I mean the thought of committing yourself to another person seemed like a ticking time bomb to me. You finally make it official, whether it's posted up on a social network, or you engrave it into each other's wrists in ink. Then it's all just a matter of time before everything transforms into "You don't spend enough time with me anymore," or "Are you sleeping with her? Why is she all over your Facebook wall?" I just felt like I always had seen it all in a movie somewhere, being in a relationship that is. The lust, the new attraction, the deceit, and then inevitably the hurt. It just looked like some vicious cycle that was embedded into the human race for eternity. I never wanted to be a statistic, one whom had a broken heart, along with the rest of America. How do you think The Lifetime Movie Network came to be?
I was better than that, more attractive than that. I really wasn't. Her eyes always transitioned into blue when once green. I know that's a common eye color, but on her it was radiant, the fluctuation of it. I would be laying on top of her, the TV just a faint glow in the room, the darkness more prominent than anything else, yet those eyes always stayed present. I'd look up and notice the curve of her top lip, how precise, the fact that I wanted to bite the bottom more so than just graze at the top. How she always looked into a different direction if mine burrowed too long inside hers. Bitch. She was only using me you know. I was her little figment from reality. Her delay from heartbreak. She didn't want to go back to loneliness just yet. A puppet like me would suffice for now, for then.
Mending a broken heart is far too tedious, especially for an attention span like Alicia's. I go outside and feel the brisk air, Fall, how did it come so fast? I feel like my presence was lacking for Summer. Graduating high school felt like it's own parade, I wasn't even there to ride on the little float of entrance to a new, dull, life of routine with the rest of my classmates. I just wish people could tell the truth. Admit when they are wrong, warn you when they're about to be. Rather, I wish people had labels, 'Stoner', 'Alcoholic', 'Nicotine Slave', 'Manipulator', 'Cheat'. No, instead we have to run around like a chicken with it's head cut off when we finally discover the truth about the person we've invested so much value, so much respect in.
I was never truly lucky in that department. With Alicia, I tried to be timid when being forth coming on how I felt, what I was scared of, and whom I thought myself to be. I wanted her to think truly, and honestly, before enduring the battle of Grace Miller. She didn't. She wanted me as a cloak, something she could wear over her deceit and façade of an existence. I covered what was truly there inside her. I didn't know until after we were done that she went shopping, decided I was tattered by all the lying and cheating she had punched through me. I was old, I needed to be replaced. And why shouldn't I be? Who wants to be with someone who knows all your faults anyway? That's why the phrase, 'There's other fish in the see' holds such significance for people like Alicia, more fish for her to catch and gut.
It hadn't even occurred to me that I was still in a towel, my bright red hair damp and dark under the towel's encasing. Why didn't I think to put clothes on, could I be that detached to forget to do one of the most commonly known things to do after a shower? There I go again, letting my brain fold in on me. I go back inside, only to find that my mother isn't home. I could call someone up, but that seems kind of pointless, seeing how I can't even be around myself anymore, let alone one or more of another human being. Days like these make me want to scream, punch holes through walls, and end a new life abruptly somehow. Feeling all this emotion is a task I no longer wanted to commit to. Seeing the same faces, in the same town that had always revolved around my entire life was becoming overplayed, used up. That must have been how I felt to Alicia.
It's kind of funny to recollect me 'coming out' to my mother. She always pictured me as the find a nice man, and settle down type. By the naked eye, I suppose I appear to be that way after a few changes that is to the physical exterior, not so much anymore. Yet, if it was possible to uncap the top of my head and climb inside, I think people would start to reevaluate that assumption before the recent changes to my new look. I yearn for power, and security. I want someone to be there, protect me, but maybe also bow down to me in a sense. When people are listening to what I have to say, or doing what I tell them to do, I feel this sense of reassurance go through me, that I'm obeyed but also safe. My brain seems less fearful. My body seems more calm. It's unrealistic though. No one, especially the humans I tend to be attracted to, seem to want to fit the criteria. Oh sure, some say they will. Promise me the moon and everything near it. Words are such a funny thing. They elaborate such hope, a future you feel so close to, almost taste, then BAM. You're alone again.
I guess it's all for the best though, I'm too high maintenance, even callous to the perception of others. It's sort of like that saying, "Can't live with em, can't live without em,", I suppose that phrase empathizes with my life. My stupid, erratic life. People I need, people I loath. My mother fitting the top ten on that 'loath list'. Her eyes bulged out the moment I told her. She said the typical things a conservative, white bread mother would say. I do have to admit though, she was pretty liberal in the way of not evicting me from her fairy tale of domestic living after I exposed my true sexual orientation to her.
Helena is now calling my cell phone, I pick up and suddenly regret the decision. Helena and I have been best friends for years, but lately, things have sort of come to a halt for our friendship's prosperity. She contradicts everything I have to say, is emotionally unavailable, and why she's calling me first is an utter shock. I pick up only to hear a gruff, deeper voice than anything I've ever heard come out of Helena, "Grace?" It's Steve, he's overweight, and totally optimistic about most other things normal people are prone to pessimism about. "Yeah, what's going on?" he hesitates slowly and then states what he's going to say, "Yeah, Helena wants her gray top back." Gray top? What gray top, and when has Helena become so materialistic? I rummage through a few laundry baskets, and no gray top. I get off the phone with Steve and feel aspirated, and not only that, somewhat hurt.
I mean, rationalizing the situation, she could want it to go out or something, even though I find it sort of too casual fitting for a party, or large gathering, but hey, we live here. Not going to find a club anywhere nearby, and who honestly has the gas to drive up? She probably just wants something comfy to cuddle up to Steve in. The last time I could recall, that top was pretty soft and warm to be contained within it's cashmere walls. Still. Returning the top that I've kept safe for almost a year, sort of seems like giving up. I know I sound premenstrual, and that's one of the many down sides of inheriting a vagina by chance. Anyway, by returning this fucking top, maybe, that symbolizes our friendship's decay and then eventually it's decease all together. I pull it out of my closest, shove it into my bag. The purple flap of the bag bobs as I head to my car. Normally I wouldn't drive into town just to return a stupid top, but if they insist on going with the theatrics, I might as well throw myself fully on stage. I arrive, pull into the drive, and head for the garage. Not sure who's all here, but something inside me blandly tells me it's the same jokers that were here last night and the night before. Helena is sitting nice and comfy cozy up on Steve, and I thrust the top into her hands. I don't want to be here, and a faint voice that tells me I'm a piece of shit on most common occurrences, is telling currently that I am not welcome here. I see Mandy come out of house, she looks beautiful as always. Her vibrant skin, with so much color and lust, the clearness of it. If only it were liquid, I'd be tempted to go for a swim. She smiles, and all intentions of leaving Helena to rot in the arms of Steve is all over. I want to be closer to Mandy. "Hi Mandy," I bashfully exclaim, my hand is out, still reenacting the transaction of the 'vital' top, hands now holding mere air.
Few more faces show up to the garage, it's the usual crowd. Ben, Jason, and Grieg all enter the garage, causally, without a second look at me, maybe a glance at the infamous Mandy. Her beauty. If it wasn't for Alicia getting inside my head, operating my main defenses, I'd be all over converting Mandy on to the other 'team'. If I played sports of course. No, I was a more non competitive type, and appreciated the fact that I didn't have to work at pursuing girls into my romantic circle. Alicia eyed me like a deer attracts it's hunter in an open field. Still, Mandy was elusive, striking, and everyone whom attended our daily gatherings wanted her. Helena notices my eyes gawking over at Mandy, and she just smirks to herself, but not before licking the skin off Steve. Savages. Heterosexuality disgusts me, makes shivers run up and down my spine. The thought of having something so…not necessarily large inside you, but anything that was of size that normally wasn't there in the first place being prominently pushed inside you just freaked me out. Fingers I could do, tongues I could fathom. Dicks? A whole other continent of sexual learning that I had no intention on being taught. Mandy laughs at one of Grieg's jokes, he's always so determined to be the spotlight of the hour, the main attraction, if not, he gets irritated, starts to crack out the insults. Oh how I hate the insults. I'm not out to illustrate myself as sensitive, but those insults, his verbal abuse, it makes me want to say, "Hey Grieg, meet me out back, I got something to show you.." than as he blindly follows, initial thought process set on scoring, I kick him right where it counts.
I'm not sure why girls, especially girls like Mandy, are so prone to asshole, dick wads, like Grieg, Grieg is like Alicia with a penis. Manipulative with your affection, selfish and starving for it, then when he over indulges, feels the consistency of the environment, he scrams. It just peeves me, I know I could treat Mandy exactly how she deserves. The flower I know would flourish in my garden of consistent devotion. Grieg continues to go on about his story about the fat girl in Target and eventually he has the entire pack of us laughing, all but Steve, Helena and me. Only because Steve and Helena are too busy sucking face, and when the joint gets passed down to me, I take the strongest hit I can strive for. I keep it in for so long, I fear I might actually swallow the smoke, I cough out, and Ben and Jason just beam at me, they know I'm going to be high as Hell is hot. Eventually, most everything Grieg has been going on about Target and fat girls, starts to become funny. Comical even, he could be your average Dane Cook if you allow him to be. We're jokin' and laughin' and everything seems peachy as well… peaches. "Your eyes are cashed," Jason bellows. I can't help but giggle at the thought, if I looked in the mirror right now, I might pee. Speaking of pee. Peeing sounds like a good idea. I get up a little to excitedly, and try, passionately to exit the walls of the garage. "Wait up!" I hear Mandy call. I think it's Mandy, the voice sounds like sun drops, if sun came in drops. I laugh at loud, forgetting that there are people, or might be people where I'm laughing. Where are all the people? I don't realize it, but I'm standing by the door of the garage, dealing with an intense debate with thought. Mandy comes up to me, and the gloss of her blonde hair is all too much for me, I want to taste it. Hunger washes over me, and suddenly the need for food, or something to taste is a must. "I want to come with you," she says. I know for a fact, Mandy hasn't been as stoned as much as I have. I'm going on a full year, off and on, and yeah, I know I'm not totally there when I reach it, but I'm still halfway there.
Mandy looks scared, and I can't help but feel honored that she'd trust me in the state she's in. Than again, who would trust the animals in here. I lead her into Ben's bathroom. Ben's house is a quaint little place, established on a quiet little street. His mom normally is never home, and neighbors hardly ever bother us. That's probably one of the main reasons his garage is so popular with us. Mandy's eyes look like their insisting on popping, but the chink of them, I doubt will allow to exemplify their full width. I take her hand and lead her into the bathroom with me. "I've never been this jerky.." she says skittish to the fact of being in the same bathroom as me. "It's no big deal, you're fine," I say as confidently as I can formulate. The best way to help tweekers, is to remind them that it'll end someday. Pot is a pretty laid back drug, but different personalities handle it with different strides. Mandy is the type that needs to be taken care of, reminded of whom she really is, or what she is. I can't help but feel a little bad, and it's decreasing my high. I unbutton my pants and boldly sit on the toilet. She quickly looks away. While I'm pissing, I can't help but recollect the previous times I've been high. Have I ever looked or felt what Mandy was showing, what she was feeling? She looked so…decipherable. As if you could convince her into thinking the sky's origin is green.
"Are you okay?" I can't help but ask. Her eyes dart from this direction to that. "I mean…I guess, I just feel so loose, so undone." Yup, that's being high. Knowing nothing, but knowing absolutely everything with inexplicable evidence to back it up. I get up, button back up my pants, totally forgetting to wipe. Mandy doesn't stop staring at the poorly painted flower portrait above the toilet. I lead her out of the bathroom and we sit down in the living room. "Do you want to eat something?" I ask her, she looks as if she's going to dip out of consciousness and dive straight into the sub. "Yeah, I think that'd be good." I scuttle into the kitchen, not even realizing that I'm rushing towards it, I take out a few bags of chips, grab glasses out of the cabinet, fill them to the brim with orange pop, manage to carry all of back into the living, and gently set it down on the coffee table. We feast immensely. I can feel the crumbs leaving my mouth, but somehow that's alright, because each taste of the variation of chip, the sip of the orange pop. It all feels brand new somehow. I look at Mandy's face, and I can tell she feels the same way too. We start to laugh at each others' faces. She grabs hold of my arm, I'm not sure where her intentions lay, but I can tell it can only benefit for me. She leans in, and abruptly kisses my lips. My cheeks flame up. I can't help but feel embarrassed. What triggered this mutual feeling between us? Pot? I know she's probably just experimenting, I've been plenty of straight girls' experiments. But I can't help but feel this, feel this intensely, and fiercely. I want to go full throttle into this, but something, the narcotic, or my pure instinct tells me this is way too fast and I should just enjoy lip locking Mandy.
The lights are out, and it's probably four in the morning. I don't expect my mother to be up, or Todd. Hell, I can barely believe I'm up. I go inside, the place is naturally unlocked, waiting for my late night return. I always come down the moment I turn on the television and watch a series I totally would despise being a sober viewer. I can't calculate what exactly happened, or would of happened, if I wasn't so vibrant on the cloud of serenity I found myself floating on last night.
Mandy's insecurities pouring into my own, with the realization that it was probable being content with breathing, blinking, and thinking in this life. I hate coming down from a high otherwise. I go into my room, shut the door, make sure to lock it tight. I open this canister where my closet nicotine intake lays, waiting for me to light one. The cigarettes are probably stale, because I don't make it a habit. Well, at least I try not too. And being in the closet about it makes it that much easier. Maybe that's what bible homos rely on until the temptation becomes too much for them. I won't let the big tar cooperation's get to my dollars that easily. I grab my orange lighter out of the box too. Unlocking my only window in this four room confinement, blinds curled, I lean half my body on the windowsill. I breathe deeply and passionately, it isn't so often that I smoke cigarettes on a happy occasion. Somehow I can empathize with all the addicts, and abusers out there. When something's great, it's great.
"Grace!" it's shrill and forthcoming. It's my mother. She pulls the sheets off my head and demands my attention. "What!" I shout, realizing then that I only got at least two hours of sleep. "Get a job!" she shrieks back. What a novel idea. If only I could fathom a position that accepted a pot head willing to work on slight occasion for cash to receive more weed and the cycle continues. I decide to give her the 'bird' from under my floral pillow. She lifts the pillow up from my frizzy head and slams it hard on my face. She starts for my dresser, makes sure to push every single item off it's surface, leaving glass and other various objects on the wooden floor for me to sweep up later, then slams the door behind her. I'm awake.
The dusty look in the sky tells me that things are going to close if not totally mundane for me. I miss the thoughts Alicia. Why did I make that fucking girl my world? I call Steve, but he's ether too busy fucking or smoking to answer. I could use a real good fucking, if only this town would expand itself, allow me to have someone of equal taste and lust. I think of Mandy, and suddenly shivers run up my spine. The thoughts of kissing that perfectly sculpted face is just too much to consume in one thought. I decide it's best to be by myself. I'll combust if I'm near anyone with such a strong energy for too long. I stick out my thumb, and luckily some stupid asshole stops to give me a lift into the city. I love the city. I feel the city is big enough to contain and care for me. I've lived in my town for most of my existence. My mother never moved around. After Dad, she just decided to stop operating the mechanics of passion, and robotically continued with human normalcy without a glitch up. I hate normality. I bid farewell to the elderly man that picked me up. He's going to see his wife in the hospital and was traveling this way to reach her. In some sort of small part of me, I find this dutiful elderly old man romantic, still caring immensely for his old lady, even if she is merely and intensely rather, on her death bed. The lights of the city bring great comfort to me, the fast pace traffic is almost like a swift kiss on the cheek. I can feel the wind of the cars brush all parts of my skin. I go into a random coffee shop that strikes my fancy. Call it hipster, or whatever you like. I enjoy coffee shops. The people are always different, Zen, and into whatever is on their laptops, ritually drinking their lattes. I like it.
I see a dude with spiked, purple hair, macking on some Goth chick and I can't help but want to dump both their cups of coffee on one another. It may just because I'm bitter, or I'm just extremely horny, along with a sprinkle of envy on top. But I just want to murder these two potential lovers. Hell, they may even be friends. Who am kidding, no one looks that intensely into another person's eyes unless he or she is wanting to get laid. I was completely wrong, today is mundane, it's completely cynical. Whatever, I order some java from the dude with the thick rimmed glasses working the cash register, before handing me my cup he scribbles on some numbers to the front, and I can't help but roll my eyes. I know my appearance doesn't initially read off 'dyke', but I'm defiantly not into scrawny, wanna-be Buddy Holly types. What'd I tell ya? This place screams 'hipster'. I take my cup from the guy and walk away without even giving the slightest interest in the marked up in sharpie ink Styrofoam. I leaving the coffee shop, I can't help but be more annoyed than what inspired me to leave the town, transitioning into the city to begin with. The cars are still quickly moving passed me, and all I want to do is scream as loudly as I can, just to try out the chance, or rather the probability of being noticed in such a busy area in the world. Instead, I drift off to the park, a brunette is sitting gloomily on a green bench, smoking cigarettes as if they were air. I plop down next to her and ask if she'd spare one. She generously hands me one, almost grateful for my company, it's strange, because normally city folk don't dig the townies, and my appearance screams desperate, drifting, townie. Come to think of it, she doesn't look too city girl herself. She's dressed in a shirt that advocates a high school I've never heard of, and blue jeans. "Where ya from?" I ask, without hesitation. It's almost like her aura begs for me to probe her with questions. She looks lonely, more lonely than I do, plus there's something dancing on her lips that's signaling that she's really willing to talk to anything with ears. "South of here, I don't really know anymore, does it matter?" Maybe, I read her completely wrong, she's a lost soul, but she sure as hell doesn't want to answer the standardized questions you're asked at some beauty salon you've never been to before. Hell, I hate answering these types of questions myself. She could honestly have no idea, from what I'm reading in her eyes, she seems to be on something stronger than sobriety. "Willing to share whatever's in your eyes?" I ask her, raising an eyebrow, while still managing to purse out my lips a little after asking the question. She could swing for the other team, do you really know? I look like the walking heterosexual parade, but boy, takes a girl to get under me to really know who I'm playing for. She hands me a little white pill, it's bulky than the general substances I'm use to popping, I swallow it without a single second thought.
"You'll feel beautiful, I promise you." she whispers softly in my ear, and then continues to puff on her cigarette as if she didn't speak to me at all. I stroke her exposed arm briefly and then abandon the bench and wander off blindly into the square. She's right, everything is prettier, hell, I feel somewhat attractive myself. The people seem tolerable, and my thoughts seem pretty tolerable too. I feel eyes burning through my skull, I turn around abruptly, only to find a brown set intently looking at my green. "Hi." I say soothingly. God bless that small town zombie for this radiance that's this white pill.
I hold on to the arm this strange man is reaching out for and he drags me into a building with a dozen neon lights. I hold on to his body as if it's a life preserver. And in more ways than none, I suppose he kind of is. We dance as if we cannot control our feet, the techno, electric, whatever kind of feel this music is giving me erupts inside my soul, and I feel like I took two more little, bulky, white pills from the girl on the bench. The tall stance of the strange man stops, brings me close into him, and kisses me passionately on the lips, I can't believe I'm doing this, but I slip a little tongue into the entrance of the prick. I guess he's not a prick, because honestly, this feeling won't allow me to think badly of others. His lips move so feverishly with mine, that I almost feel right partaking in such a straight, out of the blue, act for me. Heterosexuality was never my strong suit, sort of a grotesque normality I tried to evade growing up.
My parents did it all the time, sometimes I was aware of their acts of 'love making' by just passing through the hall way, hearing my mother's animal like screams. I guess, it just felt like being straight was a foreign language that didn't suit my tongue, though people spoke it around me often and always. The narcotic whatever it was, white like snow, was making me feel completely up for just about anything and extremely horny, I hadn't had anything touch the longing hole of despair sense Alicia. Whether it was a cock or some pretty girl's soft lips, I wanted sex and I wanted it now. I led the man into a corner of the bar, club, whatever this neon pulse would classify itself as. We continue our tongue tangling, and not at a moment's waste he unzips his pants to introduce me to his little friend. How quaint. His fingers do a quick little dance around my genital area and then there it is. I scream, but it feel as if no one notices our conjoined bodies in the back corner. He keeps me in place and continues to thrust. I can't help but moan, it's like this fulfillment I never thought I wanted. So random too, I feel empty, no more filled, but somehow filled? Damn, this makes no sense, who cares, the steady breathing of the man puts my tangled thoughts at ease. No one seems to notice the transaction, between purity and penis between the two of us. The beat of the dancing bodies, the sweat they share, all stays the same, the music equally has loud and intense as when the two of us entered the building. I let out one more gasp, and he's done. He zips up causally, and I can't help but feel like nothing happened at all. I guess at an emotional stance nothing really did. He kisses my forehead, briefly, maybe trying to find some sort of façade of a meaning for his previous actions. I just smile. The pill's entities don't allow me to hold regret just yet, in fact, I wouldn't mind another go around to tell you the truth.
The two of us reach the outside world, and I feel the cool breeze of the air, the evening has set in, and the Zen prospect of it makes me smile. The man takes my hand, and for some reason, I'm not the least bit compelled to ask for his name. His car is flashy and somewhat intimidating to step into. I'd describe it more, but I'm not one of mechanics and automobiles. I sit down on the polished leather and I let him take me wherever he likes. We leave the city entirely and I feel as if I'm floating. My eyes flutter, and find deep struggle to keep them open to keep track of direction. The music the man plays is relaxing and the sit I'm is comfortable. Everything fits. Almost like the experience at the club/bar whatever. Why classify it. Why define anything? Just let things fit. Physically, mentally….
The sun shines brightly on my face, and I realize that the stiff sheets I'm laying on are not my Superman ones. The pillow I'm laying on is not my purple one. It's gray, almost like everything that is contained in this bedroom. I can't remember single thing. The more frightening part of the matter is my location. But I'll wait to get all panicky about things. Besides, look how beautiful it is today. I step on to the balcony. I find envy for whomever owns this place, because having a balcony attached to your bedroom is pretty rad. The apartment complex itself is pretty cool. Very hip. Did I just say hip? Whatever, it's my generation. I check the closet for Toms. Even hipper, there are none. I don't realize it until I'm out in the hallway, that I'm completely undressed. Now it's time to scream. The girlish screams coming from my mouth in such a quick fashion startle the man shaving in the bathroom that he runs to my aide. He tries to embrace me but I immediately push him away, almost making him lose his footing, for a man that's bleeding on the face from a shave, he sure is graceful enough. "What's wrong?" he asks, concern written all over his somewhat, is the word dashing? Features. He's not my type, but I'm sure he'd be some bleach blonde, Hollister wearing type's. "Why the fuck am I naked in, well, in what I presume to be your fucking house?!" I realize that I'm scaring the man insanely, and I decide to find a different approach, emotionless. "Look, I'm sorry, it's just I can't remember how I got here, and it's sort of creepy finding myself naked in some thirty year old dude's apartment, no offense." He grins at little, "I'm twenty-eight". Close enough, it still gives no explanation, so I turn around, completely ignoring, well, trying to ignore the fact that I'm stark naked, and the man that I know at a negative thirty-seven currently, has full view of my ass. I enter the hip room in search for my clothes, and there they are. Jimi Hendricks shirt, my shorts and tights are all there. Now where are my boots…., ah, right next to the sneaky Toms near the dresser.
Once I find myself fully dressed, I decide to continue my conversation with the man, where I find him is at the kitchen section of the apartment, a humble little area where he's cooking some sort of breakfast that smells like a culture I'm unaware of.




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