Depressed by day, drunk by night. That is my life story. School sucks, and maybe the only reason why I get up in the morning is because I need to turn in that late paper I have in Theology. I live alone in my apartment, the rent being paid by my monthly food allowance from my mother.
Food…
My thoughts linger on that word. I haven’t eaten in a while. It’s still pretty dark outside. I checked my glow in the dark Mickey Mouse watch and it read 5 minutes before six. Well, that’s new. I rattle my brain for any late papers due, anything that might have placed me in this situation, but found none. I went to the side of my bed, placing my feet on the cold rosewood floor, only to find its sole being stabbed.
It didn’t take me to wear my glasses to see what it was. I picked up a broken picture frame, the picture missing. I must have thrown it away in my fit last night. I really should start taking my pills again.
I walked towards my dresser, not really caring that my feet were still bleeding. I took a plain old grey turtleneck, some jeans and headed to the shower. There was no point staying here anymore. I had to leave.
I locked my apartment door meticulously. As if there was something to steal. But nonetheless, I do. I walked out of the apartment building, thinking I should get coffee first. No point going to Theology without a boost.
So I did. I took a sip at it and my face immediately cringed. They got me the wrong order again. I sighed and looked to the sky. Nothing changed. The wind is blowing and the skies are grey.
A sigh escapes my list, and I continue to walk down the empty streets of my city. That was where I saw him. Grime covered his clothes and the soot of the sidewalk clung to everything else. He was old, and shivering. I didn’t have anything better to do, so I approached him.
“Coffee?” I offered.
The man looked up to me. I had wish that he didn’t do that. He had the most stunning blue eyes that I have ever seen. It was calm, yet full of life. It was like he could see everything, everything I could not. Dare he judge me? He’s just a filthy old man in the street! Why the hell is he looking at me like that?
My expression shifts to displeasure, and then to pure hatred towards this man, as his contours into a smile.
“Thank you, my boy.” He says with a gruff, yet gentle voice.
He takes my coffee before I could throw it at his face. He takes a sip and exhales. He then looks at me expectantly. What was I supposed to say? I already gave him my damn coffee; does he expect me to hand in my nonexistent cash too?
“Well, what are you doin’ standin’ there for?” He said to me almost arrogantly, switching glances from me, to the empty grime-filled spot next to him.
Odd. Truth be told, it had been so long since I had <i>genuine</i> human contact. I stared at him for a few seconds before what he said had sunk in my brain. I sat beside him. Why not? I didn’t have anything better to do, and I had a few hours to kill before my classes started.
And we just sat there. Contempt, yet in no way awkward. Strangers may be, but I do not detect any hostility with him.
“So, what are you doing with your life?” He asks casually.
“Nice try, old man.” I retorted sarcastically.
All I got out of him was a laugh. I hate being laughed at. I resisted the urge to punch him in the face.
“Right, right. And how are you liking the place?” He tries to ask again.
My face contours to what seemed like my best <i> what the fuck are you talking about?</i> face. I think for a second that he’s the one who has schizophrenia, not me. I’ve been living in this fucked up city for 6 years already. Ever since my parents’ divorce, I insisted that I should leave home. Mom married a limey and Dad turned out to be a fuckass drunk like I am.
