Hangover maybe.

They make sad faces everywhere. Faces with subdued smiles. Because if they really open their mouths and laugh, this world will come to an end. Such hideous creatures. Such dull monsters. Such jackals tearing up and the sky and the earth with their shallow sadness and boring humour and boring talking. Such rats not even good enough for our laboratories, or for feeding to our mean stupid heartless cats. I want your hands on my balls again. Your lips on my lips. My fingers inside you everywhere. But you died last night, only I died before you. Woke up with a headache. I think it’s from the terribly caustic rum I drank last night. It has turned me into a desert, robbed me of water. Waiting for electricity since yesterday morning. ‘Hey motherfucker. When will the electricity be back? What happened?’ I asked a man last night. ‘Hey sonofabitch. Something blew up badly. It won’t be coming before morning,’ he replied. It’s morning now and he was just talking shit. ‘Hey motherfucker. You said it would come back by morning. What the hell happened?’ I went to the same old man this morning and asked. ‘Hey sonofabitch. I don’t know. Something blew up badly. Maybe it will come back by noon,’ he replied. ‘Fine,’ I said and drank a cup of tea and then drove back home.

Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

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