Sins of Smoke

A Moment

[Saturday 12th July, 07:43am]      

I couldn't remember the point at which I'd started crying. Not heavy tears, mind, just enough to feel the puffiness above my cheeks and to notice the booth through a hazy blur. I suppose in many ways it's impossible to ride on the back of last night and come out the tunnel unscathed, but I have to admit that this is the first time I've lost control and allowed the salty liquid to run since Pa left. Something about Suds' story struck a nerve in me, even at that point where I still had hope that the night could go on.

I feel the shame grow inside me as I remember that I'm not alone. That buddy next door will be able to see me as I rub my eyes on the cleanest part of my sleeve I can find, leaving darkened smears over the brown splatters of dried blood. That stale, earthy smell finding its way back into my nostrils.

I look once more at him – God's servant – bound to spend his remaining days, hours, confined to four walls that would struggle to hold an embrace. Listening to the sinners and pricks of the world and abdicating each and every one of their weights that burden their shoulders. How do you decide that you time is worth the clocks of the bastards that can't find the time in the day to help others in return?