Saturday, 27 February 2010

Kitty Lost, in the Rain

He sat in a booth, sipping urgently at a beer, snatching greedily at pockets of euphoria. His friends played pool nearby. He breathed deeply and tried to relax, tried to ignore the gnawing feeling that something was deeply awry.
He was at a bar in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, a classic pre-gentrification dive that was now a tainted hipster enclave. He scanned the crowd, testing the hipness of the clientele against his own. A hipness that was painstakingly acquired and precisely measured.
He patted his finger in some spilt beer and then dabbed the liquid around his eyes. He wanted to appear emotional, intense and out of control.
Outside the rain was incessant. Had been for the whole month of June. He dabbed beer on his eyelids and imagined that he had AIDS. Damaged. Edgy. Volatile.
His friends: a short haired black lesbian and an effete, nervy web-designer. They completed their game of pool and then came and sat next to him.
Something was wrong. It could no longer be denied. It was most apparent in inconspicuous and abstract ways. A suddenly distant gaze. Boredom barely concealed by gnawing, apocalyptic humour.

Something lost forever in the rain...
He snapped out a profoundly melancholy reverie and decided it was time for a therapeutic trip to the bar. A Bud and a shot. He stood and drank them at the bar then ordered the same again. He returned to the table feeling a glimmering surge of stupefaction. Quite rejuvenating really.

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