3

I sleep on a bed as hard as a coffin. As hard as I am. Nailed to the floor, my feet, her little token.

 The banging is on my door at night.

His damp puddle sodden trousers flapped with flat, wet, slaps against his ankles. I pulled him inside, he shook me off with his hand, and growled, and shook the wet out of his hair, like a dog.

            There were sooty marks across the sky, which looked close to dawn.

I am in his talk, I am certain. He has a face full of a long drawn out thought, that escapes his lips, but it shudders, and the idea isn’t finished. He says;

“Ordinary people would not understand. Yeah, so I’m awkward, but I’m not the drifter you think I am!”

“But I do need a good night’s rest, so, if you could….”

“You burden me.” I say, simply and precise.

His fierce eyes fly across me.

“What??! You’re burdened!? What the fuck would be good about you??!”

I crash into myself, I grab my head with my hands and I bow into myself, back and forth, crashing in a red anger that I don’t want at all.

He spat on the floor. I got stuck by his anger, and stared at the neon blue tipped spot of saliva, shining in the semi light, glistening streaks of white debris of food bits, dead meat and liquor.

He saw her sideglance. Punched his knees with two fists and stood up quickly.

Inaction

Dead before the living. I can’t even show what he is to them. They are a bad band anyway; they are all like him, with subtle little differences, all…