In the morning of April you would lay low and crawl into the vulnerable corner you call your room and phone up all the people you ever knew, wishing them a good day and asking them if they were sexual enough to admit their wild and erotic fantasies involving not so pretty people. After trying out for that failed audition you would lean down and puff out the smoke from your mouth and compare yourself to the chimney on the house on 4th street. Much later, when the smoke has cleared up and the fog has cleared up and your eyes have cleared up from crying about being an unsuccessful actor, you make your way down the docks smelling like salty water and dirty dreams.
What seemed like forever was only 3 minutes, which you spent waiting for the cured boys on the other line to pick up. When Samuel had finally spoken into the other end, you ended up somehow asking him to tell the others that you’ll be gone for a while. To live the free life and hit it off with the strays in another city, smoking it up in bus stands to see who could get the darkest lungs first. Much later, after teary goodbyes and confessions you set off in the broken up foggy streets that took up the shit town you used to wander around with yourself. It is 2 am. You are tired; you don’t want to hit it off in another city anymore, so you end up leaning against the brick wall of the school pretending to be high so no-one can blame you for your actions.
Strutting towards the windows of the school after gathering up energy and matches, you peer through the glass and see the silhouette of the detention kids smothering each other with love and sweat inside the math classroom. After tapping the window numerous times they look up and grin wickedly, gesturing you to come in. You wave well naturedly and turn away to walk slowly down towards the main road, ignoring your hormones and lack of touch. Accompanied by the smallest of noises and the scraping of your shoes you keep walking until you reach the bridge you once sat on having brief moments of ambitious possibilities and heart wrenching thoughts on beautiful people.
76 days left till the beginning of your new life, till that time you sit on the clean bridge, scrubbing your fingers, scrubbing your toes, and telling yourself that your getting better at feeling good and requiring less.
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Submission Name: complacent town talk
