He would have done things differently, perhaps. He pushed his spectacles back onto his nose and tightened the muscles in his back. On his left were three or four bananas, but he would eat none of those. A pain struck in his stomach, and he laid down on his bed, his head just missing the pillow. It would have to do. For most people, thinking things over solves everything. For him, only sleep and dreams offered solutions, and those were hardly sufficient.
He had called and messaged her only twice (each) in two days. Reasoning that once would imply a lack of interest, but thrice would be pushy, he settled for two messages and two phone calls. She did not answer and did not reply. A day later, she called from the beach, a head full of seaweed. She never mentioned the calls or the messages, she just asked him out for a film.
The film lasted ninety-three minutes and was interesting material. The cold beer afterwards had a bigger impact on both of them than they had expected. On the concrete street, she stumbled. “Hold me”, she said. He did not hold her.
Three days after1 having shaved off fifteen centimetres of my hair, these are the things that stand out:
- I have far too much shampoo for the next few months at least;
- My head gets cold or warm easily, also, I feel my pillow;
- My shadow has significantly less volume;
- I like how my skull looks;
- Seriously, all this shampoo? No use for it.
I walked into the Chinese barber shop late Thursday night and told the interpreter to take it down to one centimetre. After a centimetre or three, he asked me if I really meant down to one centimetre, not down with. Yeah, I said, I want to get rid of it all. He laughed nervously and fifteen minutes later I left the store with a very nifty #4 buzz cut.
- The most common response is to look first, turn away in doubt, then turn back and shout something insightful like “hey, you cut your hair!” ←
It must have been two weeks now, since I met the devil. I met him during my regular late-night walk in the park. He beckoned me to come and what have I to lose anyway? I walked up to the lord of the underworld.
He smelt a great deal, and had clearly not taken a proper bath in weeks. There was something, can I say it, derelict about him. In all senses. He did not seem to be very enthusiastic of life and the greater purpose of it all. “Being the lord of the underworld is something you can do for many years, it’s true, but I feel like I’m missing something significant in my life”, he said, crying. Bitter, red tears dripped over the nape of my neck, Lucifer stood against me, shuddering.
Here I was, I thought, hoping to get a good deal for my soul, consoling Satan.