Rolling Kalf

Purgatory

‍‍‍‍‍Uncertain as to what held him in this particular spot, stuck! Chevon was planted to ruminate on 'what could've been', but what he was certain of was that he couldn't move no matter how hard he tried. However, he was convinced he had something to live for, something to hold on to, something to keep on living for...even from just this spot.

‍‍‍‍‍‍My mind would drift in and out of focus; these sun bleached shades of broken dreams and harsh realities, helplessly ignorant to my somber cries. These people lived thier lives unconcerned with my opinions of them, coming and going about their lives. Okay, maybe they were criticisms more than anything else, but I criticized myself so many times, but not of hate. I was just..cursed to this hell that is now my sole reality. That's all it was really, that's all it has been...hell.

**Indistinct murmurs**

Chevon walked into Bryan's shop that Friday evening, much in the same fashion as he always does after a long and demanding work week. He had alot on his mind; the usual weight of the expectations he had placed on himself, and the frustration with how long they seem to be taking to manifest, some would say it's all in his head. He had been paying attention to his body slowly holding onto the aches and pain he'd more easily shaken off during his teens, he felt that time was something he didn't have as much of anymore.

Those aches and pain along with his propensity to 'overthink' things - something he'd told himself that he had gotten used to at this point - only served to add to his feelings of depression and anxiety. He was already in his 30s and dint have much - yet - to show for it. He had set himself a high bar to meet, haunted by the foreboding shadow of estranged father.

Chevon tossed his backpack on the chair to the other side of the counter and made himself comfortable, pulling up a stool and eyeing what's on the shelf behind Bryan. It would be another evening of that usual therapy he couldn't seem to find anywhere else.

"Wa you a deal wid?" He asked, making himself comfortable on one of the two stools set out as Bryan shuffled around reminding himself where everything was.

"Bwoy..." Bryan began with the usual sigh. "It a gwaan Eno, na complain. It a gwaan" he continued, setting his drink down to where he would find it when he is ready to find himself elsewhere. The usual air of familiarity quickly emerged; they were both creatures of anxiety in their own way, gifted with that kind of psychological nuance that gifted them - as far as they saw it - a greater insight into the workings of life.

"A it man. Same way" Dravaun replied, to which Bryan asked "sumphn' ya so you a look?" Bryan asked whilst pointing the the table behind him.

Now some people go to parties, some people eat junk food, some people go out to the movies, while some people would take a trip in order to destress or relax, Bryan and Chevon smoked weed. They both saw a clear benefit from it, relying on it to keep themselves away from too much anxiety or paying the bills.

"Wa you have ova deso deh? Want suphm' strong." Chevon replied. From there Chevon took something from the shelf and started on the cutting board.

Their usual philosophy-driven conversation touring the various aspects of humanity and the human condition eventually ensued. Periodically, a knock at the door would interject as customers came and went. Eventually a customer would stick around long enough to shift the dynamic of the room.

Shortly after though, Bryan would shuffle off to sequester himself somewhere else, it's as though he needed to change his surrounding to avoid the feeling of being congested by it. Bryan did his usual confirmation if Chevon is alright, because Bryan was about to go top up his cup. The other guy continued rolling his spliff as Chevon nonchalantly assured Bryan that he's okay to keep his own company. Shortly after, the guy would finish rolling his spliff, spring to his feet and make his way out the door.