We were sitting side by side non speaking, gazing the grey mizery of athens in front and around us. My thoughts were streaming into my brain, found no way out there and eventually died, rotting into my paranoia. There were several days we were hanging out together and I knew this time was “either — or”. Either we would end up fucking ourselves mercilless or “goodbye, see you”. Problem was, I was still pissed off by my ex-girlfriend -that incredibly miserable piece of shit made me drop any case of love, romance or whatever. Or better, this was problem no1.
Problem no2 was that despite my bitter experience which should have taught me that sexual relationships are no more that a mutual exchange of genitals, no longer valid when a supposingly better exchange was present, I was still insisted on thinking bout “tender approaches” and so on. And she seemed shy and so selfconscious. Silent, pretty, lovable but distant at the same time.
Problem no3 -and most serious of all- was that trying to surpass my growing perplexity I had already been stoned like shit - something that I knew it was a killer in such occasions but couldn’t help from doing.
“Loser, loser, loser”, was the only thought that could find an exit.
I didn’t know what to do with my hands so I was involved in rolling another one. Being stoned at least is a good excuse for not doing nothing.
I lit up and exhaled.
“What are we gonna do?” said she.
“I dunno. Get stoned, laugh, have a good time, then sober up again. keep on living until we die, and that’s it”, said I.
She didn’t answer. I felt more than arsehole. Why couldn’t I keep my cynicism just for a change? I tried to restore what was possible but I didn’t know the way. Finally with an enormous amount of psychic energy I scratched her back. Miserably.I looked at her. She was so pretty, innocent sweet face. I was about to make the first motion to hug or kiss her, but then again....Why shouldn’t she do it first? I was damn sure she knew. Knew what? That I was sexually attracted to her? Oh no there was more than that. Or didn’t? Was I in love with her? And what if I did? Did that mean something more than the obvious that I’d like to get laid with her more? What did love mean anyway? Wasn’t it just that you appreciated someone’s company, intellect, genitals, body very much? Was there anything behind? Anything that could give you a clue on how to create a magical world together, tasting the very core of each other souls-or whatever? I doubt it seriously but what about her? My own illusions were dispersed, shuttered in tiny pieces, by that filthy bitch, but who was I to ignore hers? No, if I’d like anything to happen with her I had to consider love first, to drop any cynisim away, to be able to see the world with her, maybe innocent but so extraordinary fucking beautiful, eyes.
“Would you like a blow-job?”
“Huh?” said i. I was facing the biscuit-in-my-tea effect, feeling like a strange person has just plunged his biscuit into my own cup of tea. I searched desperately for any sub-routine who would be able to handle this but there was none. I just gazed away.
“It’s just that I was thinking it for some time. Maybe it’s the effect of blowing the joint, I dunno, but I’d just like to do it”, she said seriously.
I looked at her straight in the eyes. “Go on”.
She did. When I came, it was not only my sperm, dripping down my prick, but also the dead stinking body of romanticism, of taking life too seriously. We kissed, as the sun was going down, painting the horizon with amazing colours, as sun rays were filtered through the grey cloud of pollution surrounding athens, giving an excellent chemical sunset.
I zipped my trousers and we sat up together. We started walking hand-to-hand. I was feeling so light, so clear, so true.
As we were descending Strefi hill, two cops stared at us, trying to decide whether they should give us any shit or not. We hugged firmly, using our love as shield against pig-violence. We passed through, going down to Exarchia square.“Love”, said I.
“Love is love, and a beer is a beer”, said she. “and I need one to wash the taste from my mouth if you know what I mean”.
We went together to the first bar in our road, following the distant sad Kurt Cobain’s voice which surprisingly enough didn’t seem disgusting at all.
