Not Existing

not for sale

Something about a gallery of random images

What do you say to someone you haven’t seen in ten years? Thats how long it was. Neither then nor now was the right place, or the right time, but despite this they were finally going to see one another. She approached the bar counter, wondering whether she would even recognize him. He hadn’t yet arrived. A moment of doubt stuck her as she was waiting. The thought “should I even be here” was forming, but before it could materialize she was interrupted: “Hello.” “Hi, how are you?” she replied. “I’m still the same, just a little different.”

She ran her hand through his greasy, slick hair, pomaded back, straight from the 50s. “Motor oil,” was his answer to a question that she hadn’t asked. “Mineral spirits,” he said, while simultaneously handing her a container. The powerful aroma drifted as she opened the bottle, poured some on her hand, and scrubbed away. “You know that stuff causes cancer, don’t you?” a voice echoed. “So does living,” he said

That annoying fucking song was ringing throughout the neighborhood. He couldn’t escape it. That distinctive thumping beat, those same two lines repeated over and over again. At once he was subjected to it as he walked down the street. He looked around but couldn’t place the sound. It was steadily getting louder, getting closer, no matter which direction he ran. “I want to be an alcoholic, I want to be a shopaholic, I want to be an alcoholic, I want to shop around and frolic,” drowned out his screams. “I want to…I want to….I want to choke myself!” He passed out and the music finally died down.