instincts ·
28 October 04

It’s raining. That distinct smell rises from the ground and captures my mind. It’s an earthy smell, as if the ground had been scorching, and the rain has come to cool it down, the fumes the result of calming. As I walk up to the tube station, I see her walk out.

She’s wearing her funny cap. The one with the flaps on the side, and the cone-ish head. It reminds me of The Spin Doctors. But she’s a skateboarder, and she says it’s typical, so don’t make fun. She has a way of talking to me. Putting me in my place that I’ve missed; perhaps not putting me in my place, but I choose to listen to her, to obey her. I smile inside, if not outward.

“Hi”
“Oh. Hi. It’s been a while.”
“Yeah…um…going somewhere?”
“I’ve come to see a place to rent. Dionne and I are going to move in
together. It’s going to be so great moving in with her.”
“I see, so you guys are moving in together. How is she then, now that you’re both talking?”
“Well I can’t always be angry with my friend. I don’t want to talk about it again. I’m not sure if I’ve forgiven you.”
“Still with your…er…that guy?”
“Yes. Where are you heading to? I need to go to the shop to get something, coming with me or you going?”
“Well, I have to buy a ticket. Just hang on a sec for me.”

I want to stay and talk to her. Try to work things out. I fucked up, I know I did. I didn’t realise what I felt, or how good she was to me. She hated the betrayal, the ignorance, the backbiting. It was unlike me, but I was so nervous about her. I needed to talk to someone, and Dionne made herself apparent. But she always looked back at her and laughed, as if we were discussing her. She was sensitive, and I did everything to make her feel uncomfortable. I was an idiot.

“Um…I think I have a ticket actually”
“Would you like to show me, Sir?”
“Yeah, sure. Here you go.”
“Could you actually hand it to me, instead of waving it?”
“Sorry, there you go.”
“Hang on a sec; I’ll be there in a moment.”
“Sorry Sir, this ticket isn’t valid.”
“What? Oh screw it never mind. I’ll buy another.”
“Would you like to purchase another now, Sir?”
“What…er….shit she’s gone. Fine. Ticket please”

She’d left. I ignored her again. Why do I keep doing this? I could have bought the ticket later, walked with her for a while. It had been so long since we’d talked since that day, when she left, when we parted. Here I was, fucking up again, distracted by a fucking ticket, and she had gone. Pride is a powerful thing, and my pride got angry.

“Fine, if she doesn’t want to fucking wait, I’ll just go. I’m not hanging around to fucking find where she is. Fuck her.”

I walked through the barriers over to the other side. I turned back, and saw her walking back to the doorway where we talked. I couldn’t go back through the barriers as it was a one way ticket. I see her standing in the doorway, the rain has gotten heavier, like a waterfall; you can see the individual lines of water trickling downwards like an arc off the building, shattering against the floor, or creating splashes so big they soak the bottom of her trousers.
“I thought you’d gone. I’m sorry.”
Those around me walking in and out, smirk as if I’m trying to deal with some relationship issue. I’m not. I wish I was. I wish she and I were together. She looks disappointed, as if to say I couldn’t trust her enough to return to talk to me.

She did come back, and I let her down again. I was too self involved, just as before, and I always made mistakes. I looked down at the floor in disappointment, feeling the clamminess of the humidity of the station, and the rain from outside over my clothes, my hair, my face. I don’t know what to do.

“Fine. Don’t wait for me; you go off to your fucking place. You never fucking learn. So don’t ever call bother to call me because I don’t want to know you.”

Fuck. Again. Why the hell does this keep happening? I promised to keep in touch with her after we went our different ways. I went into corporate work, and she into child care, teaching infants. She loved it, and she loved to talk about it; how she wanted kids, a good husband, and the whole nine yards. I think she could get it. I wanted to be that whole nine yards.

The truth was, walking down a dark corridor; not knowing what was around the corner was more frightening for me than it had ever been. Chris wouldn’t admit it, even though he refused to walk down.

I knew I was carrying too many of my own demons with me to ever be able to be that. It was finally over, today, in that station between us. I would never see her again, and if she ever saw me, she would simply ignore me. I felt heart broken again, and I couldn’t understand why. No, I could understand, but I just couldn’t accept why. I don’t fall in love. Love is for the weak minded. Fuck her. Fuck everyone. They can all go to hell.

When I arrived at my destination, I gave my friend a call. The 2 hour journey had calmed me somewhat, and my only duty now was to not ruin my friend’s day. I tried to think about her. It was ironic, how as a friend, I could be as solid as a rock. I could neither betray nor lie to them, and yet as something more, I fucked up forever.

“Hey Chris, where you at pal?”
“You see that tall building in that massive field?”
“Er….”
“Where are you? Outside the station?”
“Yeah. Standing on the East Side exit.”
“Ok walk down the street on your right”
“Right, walking now.”
“You should see like a printing shop, it’s orange in colour.”
“Yeah see it now.”
“Take a left at that shop and keep walking until you find the beginning of a field. It’s about a 20 minute walk. Call me when you get to that field”
“Right, I’ll give you a bell in 20”

This was such a dead place. It was far too quiet. Mostly old people hanging around, some getting their shopping. Business wasn’t great here it seemed. Even the station staff were on average into their 50s or 60s I reckon. The sun was out though, but just for a little while. It was around 5pm, and the clouds had all but disappeared. They revealed a gorgeous mixture of red, yellow, and orange hues overlapping one another. It gave the whole place a “Dawn of the Dead” feel to it.

Across the place you could see the tall towers of moving construction work. Little dots of people walking up and down; pulling levers and shifting large volumes of corrugated iron around. Welcome to redevelopment. Some of the buildings were complete to the left of me as I saw the field ahead of me. I was walking down a quiet street only to find the other side bustling with traffic and noise. In complete contrast, there were large shopping areas and younger people. As I continued towards the field, an old woman struggled to walk by with her walking stick, and looked up at me.

“Why can’t you just let us be happy? Why don’t you leave us in peace and quiet?”
“Um…I’m not from around here. Would you like some help?”
“Get off! I don’t need your help! We won’t move you know. No matter how many new fancy buildings you bring here. Over my dead body!”
“Won’t be long then.”
“The bloody cheek! Get out of my way!”
I called Chris, and he motioned the very newly built tall building in the middle of a vast field was my destination. Grass. I fucking hate grass. You always find shit in grass, always. And when it rains, you find the shit mixes with the mud, and so it’s all one and the same. People tend to walk normally. I, on the other hand, try avoiding anything that looks like shit. I fucking hate grass. How can you tell the difference? I had to control my phobia and make it to the building, which was tall and grandiose, aiming to be the epicentre of redevelopment.

A big sign in front described its desires to reinvest in the town, buying old property and knocking them down to make a town which is a complete shopping and partying district. I could understand why the old lady was angry. I didn’t like this myself, but it is the way of the world. Capitalism is what we wanted, and Capitalism is what we got.

“Right, I’m fucking here you cunt. You know I hate grass don’t you?”
“Ah, sorry man. Don’t worry, you can’t tell the difference.”
“That doesn’t make it any fucking better!”
“Ok, sorry. Look just head to the top floor. It’s pretty cool up here, like a
whole massive dance floor surrounded by a bar.”
“Well fuck man! I thought innovation and originality were dead!”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s pretty good. See you soon bro”
“Hai”

“Hai” was the only word I consistently knew in Japanese. Along with “Arrigato”. Half my life watching English subtitled, Japanese language films and animations, and that was all I learnt. I took it upon myself to say “Hai” when saying “Yes”. I felt it may encourage me to learn more. It never has, and “Hai” is where I left it. It’s been picked up by most of my friends, like some sort of catchphrase used amongst us now. Like some defiant and conclusive “Yes”. I was always good at starting a catch phrase of some sort. I would say it often enough, either subtly or blatantly and it would become embedded in their heads. They would forget where it came from and use it normally claiming they made it up. I was ahead of my time. Or so I wished to think.
nextpage->
It was trendy, there was music blasting away. Everything was dark and glowing. It seemed that the top part was a bar but everything else was being designed and moved in to slowly. Around this building, there were still some old houses and narrow corridors you had to go through before you could reach the main brand spanking new building.

One of the doors I went through had a large flap, covered in vines. A hole big enough for a burglar; hell, for anyone to get through it. I guess most of these houses had been bought and were waiting for demolition. Going up the several floors was tough, and tiring. I couldn’t find the lift, and it was a bloody long trek. By the time I got to the top, I was out of breath, dizzy and definitely needed a drink.

Chris had a drink in his hand; double whiskey with a couple of rocks of ice, and a cigarette just stick to his lower lip. He liked to look cool. I used to see him as someone wanting to live in a bygone age where hair was slicked back, people wore bow ties and white scarves and did the “jive” with women dressed in frilly outfits, and who were too timid to want anything sexual.

He approached, we embraced. We hadn’t seen each other in a long time. We didn’t communicate much, but when we did meet, it was a relief. A flood of history drifted back. The good times, the bad times, the sad times, and the mad times. We had a brotherly kin ship. His elder brother was never around much, but tried to make as much time as he could for Chris. I had no siblings, so perhaps I felt a greater affinity for someone who was like me, but still different. I think out contrasts helped each other balance the weaker side of our personalities.

“Good to see you bro!”
“You too mate. So where’s my drink”
“Yeah don’t worry, we’ll get you one. Just say hello to the others and
we’ll hit the bar.”
“Fun are they?”
“Funny bastard! They’re ok actually, I like them. They’re a bit dull though. There’s one group chatting, and the other side is just being quiet, and I’m in the fuckin’ middle trying to get everyone to talk!”
“Fuck man! How old are they? 12?”
“Ha, you say that about everyone we fucking meet. They’re over 18, but all under 21.”
“Fucking bollocks, we need to meet people with brains, not elitist retards with student loans and daddy’s credit cards. Adults – not children. Unless they’re 27 and older, I’m not interested. Anyone younger is just…a waste of fucking time man. You know what I mean?”
“I know, but they’re fun! These girls will be up for anything.”
“Where’s the fun when everything is laid out before you?”
“We’re not getting any younger.”
“They’re not getting any older fast enough!.....Hi everyone, nice to meet you.”

The pleasantries set aside; we hit the bar and start drinking. We reminisce about the good times, and it’s fun. We sometimes glance over to the table and see the division still there, but now they seem dead quiet. We head back to the table and start a few conversations going. I deal with the insecure and slightly timid group, whereas Chris deals with the easy prey.

They start talking, and my interest wavers immediately. As soon as they utter the words, “Well I just finished my A Levels” I feel like dying. I feel a suffocating hand embrace my neck with tender love, squeezing my throat gently at first, and then stabbing pains as my windpipe is crushed. These people are so fucking boring. They are the clichés of the world, all sitting beside us. The spectrum of division. I walk away from the conversation midway,

“I just NEED a drink right now.”
“Thought you weren’t drinking alcohol?”
“Well, fuck that, right now I NEED it”

Chris gets up as I start to panic. He calms me down as my anxiety passes and we hit the bar again. He’s done this for me a lot. I get anxious when I’m bored, because bad thoughts pop into my head. I like older people because they challenge me, they don’t bore me. They stimulate my mind, not give me a sob story about how they broke up with their teen romance of 3 months.

“Chris. I’m losing it man.”
“You were having thoughts again?”
“I can’t fucking control myself. I just want to kill them all”
“Ha ha, come on dude, they’re not that bad”
“Oh yeah? ‘I jush fiwish my A-webels, oh I boke up wit my boyfwend’. Fuck man, I don’t need to hear this teen crap. I need someone that wants to have a conversation. Someone who isn’t just interested in teenage sex, someone who can read a fucking book and drink without getting so pissed they’ll snog a goat”
“Ah dude, you’re hard work you know that?”
“Well, it’s not my fault you pick up the whores from Soho, and their gimps. I have no interest in trendies. I only want to talk to real people.”
“OK, look, let’s finish a few more drinks, stay another half hour and we’ll go.”
“Look, just ignore me; I’ll sit at the bar. I’m cool I just needed a break from the kids.”
“Naw, don’t worry about it. You’re right, let me just a get a few digits and we’ll head off.”
“Right, I’ll order myself a few drinks then”

I sometimes felt guilty. He was older than me, and yet I was the younger party pooper. It was why I used to tell him not to invite me out, because I would just ruin his night. Of course, we’d have fun, even without the people. But Chris likes to play with the girls, and tease them, and get teased in return. He’s like a schoolboy in the body of a 30 year old. I’m 60 year old in the body of a 25 year old.

We’ve been to so many parties where I have died there and then, I become isolated, and I talk to someone, anyone just to look as though I’m enjoying myself, or disappear so he can only assume that I’m with someone.

Just as long as he gets his night, his fun, I don’t care if I’m not social. Or don’t like the people. Tonight though, it’s just too much. May be she’s on my mind, and may be she is more than all of them put together. I just don’t know anymore, as I knock down another six or seven “bourbon & coke”.

Chris grabbed his jacket and said goodbye to everyone. I didn’t even bother and turned my back to them. He laughed and walked ahead of me as I sparked a smoke. The night was finally fucking over for these dropouts. Chris head towards the lift and we got in.

“Did you find the lift?”
“Well….no.”
“So you climbed all the way up here?”
“Hmmm, it would seem so.”
“You fucking plum!”
“Ah, fuck you.”

I have to admit, it was easier going down in the lift. As we saw the counter going down, my legs were sighing with relief and screaming with anger at the punishment I had put them through. They were still aching, although the alcohol was starting to take effect, and I was a bit less of a bastard who hates everyone.

I could have bought the ticket later, walked with her for a while. It had been so long since we’d talked since that day, when she left, when we parted. Here I was, fucking up again, distracted by a fucking ticket, and she had gone.

Walking through the surrounding houses was strange. The buildings were dead, but the people were gathering around these soon-to-be-demolished streets. Drinking. Partying. New Year’s often puts the rule breakers out and about. People tend to forget that even though it is New Year’s, there are certain rules, and that others beside them exist.

We opened the door with vines at the bottom, and forced ourselves through the cramped, barely lit corridor. It looked old and very dead at night; as though we were heading towards something darker than what we wished for. In a corridor with slippery steps like this, your own imagination could possibly give you a heart attack. I don’t know how Chris felt, but I felt unease about this place.

When we got out, we saw the field ahead of us. Hundreds, possible thousands had filled the field, gathering like swarms of moths attracted by the bright lights of the fireworks. Around us, in the distant far off constructions sights, spot lights were being shone.

“Fuck man look how cool that is!”
“Eh?”
“Look, the way the light is creating the shadows from the construction build, and how it’s piercing through the clouds.”
“How many did you have to drink?”
“Look at the way the clouds are covering the moon, and that tree that’s in the way, its fucking phat.”
“Yeah it is pretty cool. I saw a Mickey Mouse on the window sill near the corridor we walked down.”
“Mickey Mouse? What the fuck?”
“Well, it had devil horns I think.”
“Ok, I’m a bit drunk, but I wish we had a camera. I could just take pictures of so much crap right now.”
“I don’t have a camera.”
“Hmmm let me check….DUDE! I have a camera!”
“Ha, well go take your pictures then, I’m gonna spark.”
“Well, if we go back to your evil Mickey and start there, hopefully the clouds will have moved into a more interesting shape.”
“Ok cool, whatever man. Let’s go see Mickey, but make it quick cause it’s getting fucking cold!”

So I grabbed my camera, and in my drunken state rushed up the stairs of the creepy corridor. Chris followed and slipped. He hurt his ankle. I told him we’ll go back, but he started to climb the stairs. He waved me on to go take the picture.

“I’ll stand outside the door until you’re done.”
“Coolios”
He sat on the step just before the door, and I closed it behind me.
“Where is it?”
“The window sill you plum. Oh hello!”
“You look like The Swamp Thing with those vines on your head man!”
nextpage->
I was steadying myself to take the picture. I could rarely take a picture without the camera shaking in my hand. We went on holiday, a few us together. I was assigned with taking the pictures, and when we got back and blew them up, they were blurred like crazy. I don’t know why, but they looked absolutely fine when they were small. It was annoying and it bothered me for a long time. I did a course in Photography for fuck’s sake, I knew my SLRs and film ISOs, and yet I couldn’t take a fucking picture.

“What the hell are you doing here?!”
“We’re just taking a picture.”
“Hmmmmm?? The Devil. The Devil is here.”

I froze as I heard the voice of an old man, angry, bitter. Chris froze with his head halfway through the door gap covered in vines. We both stared at each other, and the man heavily climbed the steps rapidly, followed at the same time with some sort of clinking noise. Chris began to shuffle forward, I grabbed my camera and shoved it in my pocket quickly and moved towards Chris to help him. As I did, we heard his roar as Chris kicked in reaction at not knowing what this lunatic was trying to do. I took Chris’s weight on my side and we stood in silence.
“I know you’re there. I know The Devil is here. I know he sent you. He won’t get me again. He made me do it. They screamed, but I silenced them. They’re quiet now. All quiet.”

He banged on the door a few times. Chris shook, and in turn shook me. Do we run? What if he had something? If I got fucked, Chris would definitely be fucked. May be it was a prank by some fucking kids. I’d kill those little shits. I was drunk and unaware of what the fuck was going on as it was, the last thing I needed was some cunt scaring the crappola out of me.

We motioned to each other to head back upstairs, but the lift was at least two floors above us. Probably to discourage the fat lazy bastards from using it without doing some work first. I couldn’t believe that was what I was thinking about when someone was trying to scare the jeebus out of us.

Slowly, we climbed the first set of stairs, and heard his voice come nearer. I noted the shadow emanating from where we exited, the metal clinking sounded like something he was dragging. He was there, waiting, perhaps getting some kick out of it. Him and his bloody devil. We had to go down a hall in order to get to the next set of stairs.

I was tired. Chris was tired. His weight was too much for me, and his ankle pain was too great for him to walk on it. We still had no clue who was chasing us, and why. We put it down to it being a psycho. We’ve met a few in our time, Chris more than most.

I managed to get us to the stairs, but there were two sets. Both leading upwards from what we could see, but different places? We didn’t know. The footsteps quickened behind us, and we went for the stairs on the left. I rested Chris for a moment, and as I lifted my head upwards I saw Chris’s face stare in shock.

Coming towards us ran a man in his late forties. On one leg he wore shackles, which explained the metallic noise. Everything slowed down as I observed what he looked like. His hair was side parted, all grey, but fuzzy. He wore a yellow, worn out jacket bomber jacket with nothing underneath expect the few white chest hairs and a body covered in bruises and bloody cuts. His blue, tightly fitted khaki trousers were short for him, and on either foot he wore different brands of trainers; on the left Nike Air’s and on the right Adidas Classic’s.

This was the most mixed up looking guy I had seen in a while. His mouth was wide open, I think he was screaming, but I couldn’t hear anything. His teeth were black, yellow or missing. His roots bloodied, and rotted. His blue eyes shone with the moonlight as they headed towards us like a freight train unable to stop. His face covered in dirt, unwashed, unclean.

Another glint shone, this time, in his left hand. Now I know what Chris saw. It wasn’t the man he was worried about. It was the shiny hand sized butchers knife he was carrying. Its glint was unmistakeable. I wanted to take a picture of it, just to capture it during that moment. The world sped up again and he disappeared down one of the hallways, or at least this is what I thought.

In the movies, you’re not supposed to check if the psychopath is chasing after you, because you will inevitably end up dead. I understood now, the annoying bastards on screen were just acting on animal instinct, on curiosity. “Is the coast clear” you ask yourself.

Chris tugged at my leg, and shook his head, point his thumb upwards. We were still one set of stairs below, and I needed to be certain that he wouldn’t come after us. There was no guarantee either way, but I needed to check. I waved Chris down and looked at the stairs. It was the wrong stairs. We needed to go right, so we still had some distance to cover. I lifted Chris up carefully and quietly, if he was there, he couldn’t see us, but he would be able to hear us. I think I was more scared than Chris at this point. We had no fucking idea what were doing, how this would work, and why the fuck we came back just to take a picture of a horned Mickey Mouse.

I was too self involved, just as before, and I always made mistakes. I looked down at the floor in disappointment, feeling the clamminess of the humidity of the station, and the rain from outside over my clothes, my hair, my face.

I shuffled Chris to the dark part of the stairs, I remembered watching those army movies, where they use hand commands to issue orders. I stared at the ceiling for a moment, and then looked at Chris. He pointed with two fingers towards his eyes and then towards the distance. I nodded and did the thumbs up. Bastard got there before I did.

As I crept quietly forward in the glossy hallway, with light and dark disproportionately spread across, I looked back at Chris and couldn’t see him anymore. I assumed he had closed his eyes. I couldn’t blame him, I would do the same. I was more scared than I had ever been; not knowing what was in the darkness, in that gap where he ran to. I swallowed my spit, and felt a touch of nausea. My nerves tingled with fear and excitement, my head cold as ice.

I was moving with instinct now and I prayed my instinct wouldn’t end my existence there and then. I moved ever closer to the gap, the darkness growing, the light disappearing, and my vision becoming blurrier, even though I no longer felt the intoxication of the alcohol I had consumed.

The gap was just that, a gap. I could hear his voice, praying to God for mercy and help. We should have gone. We shouldn’t have waited. I was wrong. I was so wrong. I shouldn’t be standing here. He hadn’t noticed me. If I said anything, he might strike. If I moved, he might strike. He stood up and seemed to stare right past me. Chris was around the other corner. I should have told Chris to keep moving, hell I should be moving with him.

Instinct is bad. Logic should have ruled. I froze, my throat swollen with fear, my heart pounding insanely. Those heart in the mouth moments you hear of, I felt there. I felt bile rising upwards, but I resisted the desire to wretch or swallow. I shut my eyes. I felt him jump out and run.

As he did, he knocked me to the floor, the blade in his left hand cutting across my right cheek as I raised my head. It didn’t hurt, but I felt the cold, sharp blade of the steel enter my flesh. Then it stung like a conscious cut to my face, the pain being bearable but horrid. I stayed silent, but in my head two thoughts were prominent: “Shit this fucking hurts” and “Doctor’s appointment tomorrow. Note to self: tetanus shot”. My eyes still shut for a moment, I opened them again. He had disappeared.

Chris! It was only a few minutes, but those felt like my last hours. When you think you’re going to die, do your really forget about everything else? I guess the moment when you’re dying is when think about others, knowing that your life has been extinguished, and that there’s little point in reminiscing about yourself.

I struggled upwards, and stretched my back. I was winded, and cut although I didn’t know how much; I felt trickles of blood seeping through the sliced skin. I shuffled towards Chris, hearing the metal moving further and further away. He pointed to my face, and I shook my head, and we began to move again. Slowly at first, but then the metallic noises stopped and we sped up once more. He was coming back, fast. Was he fucking with us? Toying with our minds? Maybe he was getting kicks from the chase?

The lift was in sight, and I hammered the fucking button. It’s a fact, and also another instinct, that pressing the button more times will not make the lift arrive faster. Everyone knows this is true, but it gives your brain some stimuli from all that waiting. We had to get into the lift, and then close it before he got to the stairs to have enough time to escape. We heard the bell, the lift doors opened, and the clanging came closer and closer at a rapid pace.

We could hear his lodu, heavy breathing now, which meant he was near the the bottom of the stairs already. I dragged Chris in, not having enough strength to carry him. He instinctively hit the close button just as my foot was inside which mean the door wouldn’t close. I got in, and I pressed the button. We heard him screaming as the knife hit the closing doors and we were on our way back to the top, where we originally started. I would call the Police and an Ambulance for Chris. Chris argued a priority was having a drink. I concurred.

Everything was just the same. Even the fucking girls at the back were still there and still divided into their groups but drunk. Carrying Chris over best I could, I moved him on to the stool. We ordered drinks, the bar man gave me a tissue and some water to wipe the blood off my face. I could see the cut in the reflection, “Note to self: Need stitches”.

Chris asked for vodka straight. I’m not the spirit drinker I once was, but I had the same. It was vile, horrid, but it made us feel fucking better than we had. The girls came over, and Chris gave them the story of what happened, except exaggeration and dramatisation were his forte. I asked the barman if we could use the landline as there was a psycho running around who cut my face. The barman seemed to shit himself for a moment and handed me the phone.

By the time the Police came, they said they did a thorough search. There was no sign of the said man, but they did find a room open, and a book. In the book were pictures of the said man. He used to work on the construction of the building, but was fired after a schizophrenic episode. He claimed God wanted to stop this. A man died after a pipe was struck to his head. The company claimed it as an accident; the man was fired from his job without pay.

In the book, pictures were taken of corpses on each floor. These had been missing people, and now accounted for in the book. They suspected the bodies were hidden in the building, and shortly after, the construction project of the shopping district was halted to dig around to find the missing.

We didn’t want to know anymore, simply because we didn’t care, but news of the grizzly findings grew and trickled down. Well, that’s what we liked to believe. The truth was, walking down a dark corridor; not knowing what was around the corner was more frightening for me than it had ever been. Chris wouldn’t admit it, even though he refused to walk down. Things had changed, our lives had changed, but in the end, we chose not confront it.

We never saw that man again, or met anyone quite like him again. In time we left it to imagination or history within our own minds. There were greater priorities than being scared all your life. Even with all that fear, something’s could never change.

“Wasssssssssssssssssssup”
“Hola senor!”
“Katie’s birthday, tomorrow, come down.”
“How old are they?”
“Well it’s her 18th, so they’ll be a bit young”
“Ah fuck’s sake man, it’s gonna be fucking Britney and Avril fans. No doubt some fans of Pink and NSync or whatever they’re called.”
“Heh, well I’ll see you at my place tomorrow then, and we’ll drink first.”
“Ciao fer now mofo”
“Hai”