Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Regular sleep hasn't been a norm for me since my early teens. The tossing and turning each night is all too familiar after lacking the means that would once be the reason for slumber. Not that I would find any peace from the darkness clouding behind my eyelids the second all outlets to the world close around me. So I lay, looking up at the smooth ceiling as it dares my eyes to find even a slight crack along the thin layers lathered over one another of porcelain white paint. A bland color seen to fit every modern style.
A new fascination of mine to fixate on small colors to then find their greater meaning. Purpose.
The color mirrors that of grey. Sad, dull, desolate, impersonal. Lacking life.
An obnoxious ringing stirs my thoughts and comfort from my bed. Moving closer to the bedside table, I grab my phone,
"What?"
"Awe my love, did I wake you?" Nico's insufferable voice comes thru the phone.
"I'm hanging up," I threaten, clearing the tiredness out of my voice.
"Get your ass up, I'm downstairs." "The shop isn't even open yet, how the fuck are you inside?" I snap back, getting up to slip my pants on.
Nico's pause was enough to let me know, "well, do you really need me to answer?" With an eye-roll, I hang up the phone, looking around to find my shirt. Wondering what shit storm I need to mentally prepare for today.
The past couple weeks alone has been enough to make a recovering addict walk into a store of their poison of choice.
Walking down the stairs to the shop, having an apartment directly above, I first catch sight of Nico lying along the tattooing bed, sliding his thumbs aimlessly across the screen of his phone.
"Plan on sanitizing that when you're done?" My voice causing Nico to jump at the sudden sound.
"You can't stomp those big ass feet to let a guy know you're coming?!" Nico dramatically puts his hand over his chest.
For a tattooed, wannabe "grungy" looking guy, he's more inclined to cry over dog shelter commercials than volunteer to be the leader walking in a haunted house.
He knows not to wait for me to say anything when he continues, "plus it's my station, I should be allowed to enjoy this spot too sometimes."
"Why are you here at 7am?" Getting straight to the point.
Nico's face turned into that of a serious one, standing up from his station "Enzo didn't take up the offer." The words being enough to have me smack an assortment of things off the nearest bench.
