Back Where We Started, Here We Go Round Again…

Once again, I find myself in the unenviable position of having to rise and glow dimly as my compatriots remain under the thrall of Morpheus.

I rise from my bed and cast my bloodshot eyes upon my slumbering love. Her pattern remains immutable; she mewls like a babe and attempts to draw me back to her side, to join our forms and return to a blissful state of unbeing. But to do so would be to court disaster, and so I turn away, the creaking of stairs echoing behind me. 

As the blanket of night is slowly burned away by the rising sun once more, my weary limbs propel me ever forward, my destination looming on the horizon like the Dark Tower of King’s universe. Finally, the journey ends, only to evolve into an a series of misadventures specifically selected by Fate for me. Each one has been designed to test my will, my intestinal fortitude, even the depths of my soul.

I will encounter sinners: The drunken philanderer who continually refers to his paid companion by his wife’s name springs to mind. “I thought it was cute at first, but now he does it every time he gets blitzed!”, his plaything coos, her university school bag slung across her heaving bosom, a symbol of the stark contrast that dominates her existence.

Theirs is a long-distance relationship: she is from Fantasy Land and he resides in the halls of Dionysus.

My pickled friend has chosen poorly; discretion is the keystone of an illicit affair but his mistress is the original Chatty Cathy. But with large breasts and a tight butt, of course. As he retrieves his truck from the parking garage we chat and she bares her soul, such as it is.

• She is a pursuing a higher education and yet, one could argue that she is lacking in common sense. Then again, walking the halls of the ivy league requires big bucks these days, so perhaps she is wiser than most.
• Her apartment was gutted by flames and so her Sugar Daddy has footed the bill for temporary lodgings and miscellaneous expenses. (Handcuffs and lube don’t grow on trees, folks.) 

“He’s introducing me to his parents!” she chimes. (How does that work? “Mom and Dad, I’d like you to meet the woman I’m banging on the side!” I imagine his mother saying something to the effect of “The side of what, dear?”)

“His wife is a real bitch!” she continues, prompting me to slip into my patented “Hook don’t play that!” mode.

“Did you expect him to say she was Mother Teresa?”

“What?”

“I mean, no cheater would ever say his spouse was a good person who didn’t deserve to be cheated on, would they? He has to justify his actions, if only to himself. I’m not judging, mind you, but I know how these things work.”

“It doesn’t matter what she’s like. I’m a sure thing, honey.”

“True enough. However, I see you’re a university student, so you have ambition.”

“God gave me this body for a reason. I might as well use it to get what I want. I’m just lucky to have met a guy who’s willing to pay for me to be exclusive, there are a lot of freaks out there!”

“Yes, that certainly appears to have worked out for you. I wish you both luck.”

“A long as I don’t break a hip or get a sore throat, I won’t need luck, sweetheart!”

“I imagine bad knees and a gag reflex would be a problem as well.” her candor allows me to explore the limits of my humor.

“You’re hilarious!” she exclaims between snorts.

Her patron returns, pays me for my services – and discretion, no doubt – and they rumble off into the newly-arrived day, leaving me to my labors.

I will encounter saints: A mother and father who have spent the last year homeless, truly a living nightmare seemingly without end. Together they pulled their family up to begin again, the gift of a modest reprieve in Niagara Falls serving as their reward, donated by their family and friends.

“We’re grateful for the little things now.” mom declares, her eyes weary but filled with hope nonetheless. “Hot showers. Four walls we can call our own and even Kraft Dinner!”

Wills and Kate are building a 21-room brownstone and across the pond, this family of four has been living in one room. When they could find a room, that is.

Has the divide between classes ever been more prominent in our modern age, I wonder?

I will encounter the absurd: A child filled with the power of a thousand suns runs screaming thorough the lobby. He encounters my luggage cart, filled with bags, but is undeterred from his course; he slams his young form into the cart.

The bags yield and some fly through the air.

He climbs over the remaining bags like a howler monkey possessed by the spirit of an Indy driver. On crack.

The dust settles and he continues, his childhood screams echoing through the lobby.

I will encounter the sublime: A woman of superior beauty and grace. A woman of superior beauty and grace who reads comic books and attends conventions. (At this point, I may have seen it all.)

I will encounter all this and more before 8 am: In fact, I have.

All of these events and more I will chronicle and share with the world: And now that I have, I bid you adieu until we meet again.

See you in the lobby…