Eating the worm (part I)

Is this what it means to fall? To be left in pieces at the side of the road to rot and wait to be taken away?

I wander along the pavement, past piles of unwanted things, broken and discarded, in random patches along the curb. Will they stay there forever? Sometimes it seems so. If you've got beef take it up with the council. I have no beef. I'm cool with this state of affairs, this state of disarray, like I'm walking through a pre-post-apocalyptic wasteland, a world teetering on the edge. Reflects my mood. Every day I read the papers. Every day I feel it getting closer, The End, making my nerves tingle.

I hit town, what else is there to do? Got a twenty pound note in my pocket and a handful of change. With these tools I will change the world, my world, inside my head, for a couple of hours, at least, maybe more. I take my phone out of my pocket and start pressing buttons.

I call Steph. He's half-asleep half-falling out of his bed, surrounded by paper, in a state of physics-defying stasis. When the phone rings the bubble is burst. His head hits the ground with a satisfying crunch, I winch on the other end but smile my cruel smile. After he's gotten his bearings and cursed me out a little we arrange to meet in the vault for drinking and scheming, in a few hours, take it easy man. I wander around Queen Street aimlessly until I'm sick with commerce, it's pattern burrowing its way into my psyche, a parasitic worm heading straight for the frontal lobe, to nest and raise a family. My pace quickens. Must find sanctuary. Must find escape.

I go to the castle grounds, but away from the bums and moshers, deeper still, amongst exotic trees with funny sounding names. I am surrounded by their trunks, shooting straight up at the sun. I sit cross-legged and roll a spliff on the back of a CD case.

Lying down now, eyes on the sky, or a couple of centimetres behind it. I remember eating tacos in a Milwaukee mall, stealing wooden plaques from Barnes & Nobel for souvenirs, and downtown coffee houses. Learnt a valuable lesson that day. TacoBell tastes like shit.

I finish my spliff and feel like wandering. I walk to the museum for no particular reason. I stand amongst the Greek pillars and stare in through the revolving doors. I fell asleep in the museum once, drunk on cheap red wine, taking advantage of the free entry to find shelter from my thoughts on the street, which were a little too uneasy for my liking. I stared at this one picture for close to an hour and to this day when I try to recall what it looked like I cannot. It must of just floated on the surface of my retina before dissolving in a mist of amnesia. Strange, the way memory works.

I fall suddenly out of my marijuana hazy reverie. My phone says 4pm, amongst other things, meaning I gotta go to the vault to meet Steph.

One foot follows the other, whilst the mind wanders on ahead.

[To Be Continued]