I wake up and don’t bother to change my pajamas. They’re probably the ones I shagged in last night and the night before. The bathroom door beckons; the rich browns calling and chastising me for my complete lack of responsibility and hygiene. I ignore the call to brush my teeth, take a shower and shave and walk to the kitchen and make myself a black, sugarless, insipid coffee that tastes more like foul-tasting medicine than coffee. I walk to the balcony smelling like shit and sit and light a cigarette and look at the closeted garden in the apartment complex I live in. The greens and light browns dance to the aubade of some couple making morning love in the apartment downstairs. I guess their rhythmic pounding should invigorate me and make me see the little butterflies flitting around the greens and the light browns in a fresher light; make me embrace the soft chill of the morning; make me look up at the grey sky that’s turning blue and sing a song of praise for the nuances of twilight and the shifts of color, but their gasps, giggles, and sighs make me look around and realize just how shitty my life is. Here I am, a paunched, bearded man, barely existing because of prescription pills and I can’t be another. Here I am, a thirty-year-old ashen teethed, sour breathed, chain-smoking, energy drink addicted, sorrowed man who hasn’t fucked a woman in years and I can’t be another. Here I am, an avid reader of all the philosophies and theologies I cannot apply to my life, and I can’t be another. Here I am, a night porn Owl, my dick hooting while some whore and some man-whore get it on and I can’t be another. Here I am, here I stand, here I fall, here I fucking fade.
© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)