"You, you two brut..." I shouldn't have messed with that beast at all; in fact, I didn't, I just acted a little peeved, since that punch broke the sentence I was about to blurt out and my handsome nose.
Fuck those athletes and high-class whore.
Once again, this farce has driven me out of my dreams, despite my past fragmented like whisper, really distant. I put on my human skin and returned to my trashy belonging; this street has witnessed almost all of my transformations, that whore too, and they all have gradually deteriorating appearances and filthy interiors－not of the mind or anything more profound, just actions, or more purely, activities. I suppose essence would be the best explanation.
The essence of the street is the circle of life, the essence of that bitch is to sweep away my life blueprint, and my essence is to fuck it all. I try not to think about these damn things, but the effort itself is wrong, the essence of this thinking is wrong, even though it's all that bitch's fault. I just can't help it.
When I came to, my right foot had already stepped into the coffee shop. This is one of my trading places where I usually spend the morning or until I satisfy a junkie. Well, people need to eat, excrete, caffeine, alcohol, sex, or whatever bullshit, and I supply those rare needs that the law doesn't like.
As I was searching for my spot, I heard some yelling: "Why did you push me? Mister, how dare you! Why are you breathing when you're staring at me?"
"No, miss, I..."
"You know this is sexual harassment and I can sue you!"
"Fuck!" I blurt out involuntarily as I turn towards the commotion. "You scumbag!"
"Ah!" she twists her head and yells, "The loser!" She pushes aside the unfortunate guy next to her, steps out of the queue, and is hastily treading away in her high heels.
How could that idiot possibly be running faster than me? As I hesitated whether to chase after her or not, I caught a glimpse of her behind the glass window,holding up her shoe and arching her eyebrows at me, before dashing away from my sight. My body reacted quickly, and by the time my mind caught up, the shop's doorbell was already swaying on the other side.
Unfortunately,I quickly ran out of breath and had to shout, "Hey! Don't you think you can...huff...get away...hey!" I'm so pathetic. If only I exercised regularly, especially jogging. If I had the habit of jogging or even fell in love with it, then I could conquer any desire, like late-night feasts, or those bastards who robbed me of my reputation and wealth.
"Are you okay?" Her voice cut through the buzzing in my head. "I thought you had left this city a long time ago." It was the voice that once captivated me.
"Can you hear me or not?" she said again.
Finally, I caught my breath and glared at her before saying, "You're so dead."
"I know!" She burst out laughing and then thought for a moment before saying, "Was it the one where I told everyone about you wetting the bed, or the one where I smashed your Chevy?"
"It's probably the kind where you swindled all my possessions and fled with that dumb ass."
"Is that worse?" she took my hand, strolling leisurely on the city, and continued, "But you don't seem that angry. It's been three years, and time is still effective, right?"
"For anger, yes."
She glanced at me and asked, "Are you still gambling? Bribes or beating people up?"
"You and that idiot made me a mess, don't you know that? I can't stay in that business anymore, you idiot! And I never gamble, how many times do I have to correct you? There are no probabilities, only data, occasionally adding some supply-demand stuff..."
"That is gambling." she interjected. "I thought I made that clear to you."
I stared blankly, I had already realized it. Rigging games was my means of mocking the future and whole world; it was a practical and concrete plan to make the future a part of the present. Although my life was as dirty as society, it was at least clear enough.
The fact is that I can't plan everything, my future is like other vague souls, all just a gamble.
"That's just how life works." she reached out her hand and continued, "Look! Do you remember when we used to eat shaved ice there? You always scooped out the fruits and candies for me."
I looked over－ah, indeed, some of my memories still flowed through these decaying spaces, moss clinging to our bench, tiles shattered, it seems that this path is the exclusive track of time.
"So, you don't gamble anymore, yes?" she suddenly asked.
"Damn you. I don't have any gigs at the moment, but..."
"Great!"
"Great your mama!"
"Hahaha!" She sat on the bench and looked at me, saying, "You've dragged me along for decades. During the years you've led me through, I wonder if I've had any influence on you as you influence me? none at all. We used to steal fruit, cheat on class, skip school and home, we did all sorts of illegal things and built our own criminal enterprise. Believe me, I love this kind of life..."
"Anyway," I interrupted her, trying to control my temper and solve some confusion. "I just want to understand why, and then I never want to see you again. No matter what excuses you have, you just took away my only remaining trust in people. Tell me, why did you have to strike at my reality? You know my creed better than anyone."
"Because..." She is dragging out the last word really long, "it's better for the children."
"What?" Gosh, I'm old. I paused for a moment, then asked again, "What did you say?"
"I cannot let our children grow up in such an environment," she said solemnly. "I cannot ignore these... you know, the bad things you've done. You can't gamble anymore. You know you can't predict or even reverse the future, but you can always choose, right?"
"Child?" I pointed at myself, "Me?"
"Yes, you!" I finally understood something as I looked at the unbearable smile on her face. Our conversation was never about the past, and it didn't seem to be about the future either. It was a dangerous game of self- torture, convoluted beliefs, and trust.
It's growth.
That night, I got punched out of my dream again, and for a moment, I saw my own swollen piggy face. My chest heaving with horror.
"What's wrong?"
"You and that idiot made me like a retard, the same old story," I sigh. "But I don't expect anything new."
"So..." she pats me and asks, "what happened in the end of the dream?" I can hear the malice in her tone.
"What happened? I and Catherine Leta Jones have two lovely babies, and we have been living happily ever after." I'm not a good shit anyway.
