The lady in red. The music is rising in a crescendo. Can barely make the face of the girl in the chair in the corner through the sea of people. The tune resembles Bob Marley’s. A little bead of sweat runs down behind my temples as I start feeling the heat in the sweater. The rum in my glass is about to run out as I sip at it incessantly. No, not this time.
The mud is deep. I don’t know how deep it goes. Probably runs down to Alice’s hole to Wonderland. The snow is driving harder. My fingers seem to be freezing. Or have they already. Haven’t seen a soul in days. I hope my sanity holds up like the tyres have. What would be Googles thinking now? The sun isn’t supposed to go down in that direction. Oh man.
The clock has just struck 10. Four hours I have been here and it feels like less than half. I can’t help loving her as much as hating her. Why is she wearing that dress? She should keep her hair open. I think this is much better than earlier. I miss that song. No, I think it was better earlier. Way better.
The keyboard will probably melt away. The tapping has become more furious now. How do these words flow now? My leg aches with the constant sitting. Wonder whether the other end of the line has a similar picture. What is it anyway? Infatuation? No. Just habit, it seems. The line never ends. There is no looking back. Just the next story.
The wind is chillier than I had thought. Thankfuly, the traffic is sparser. The subway is nowhere to be seen. The wrinkles on his face are prominent even in the dim light of the far away halogen lamp. The water in the little stream by the pavement is not moving. There hasn’t been any rain in months. His little cup can hold only so much. Thirst affect us all equally. Maybe emotions don’t.
Pictures change, the person remains the same. Or is it?