Booty Call

She calls me in the middle of the night. At one or two or three , even at five sometimes.


Fridays, Saturdays or Saturdays and Sundays depending on how you look at it.


Asking me, what am I doing?


Asking me, am I at home?


Asking me, could she come over?


I tell her, nothing, yeah, okay.


My speakerphone is busted so she texts me: "Outside" and while I wait for the elevator to climb what could sometimes be seven stories, she calls me.


"It's freezing out here!"


I'm her safe card and some nights not even that.


It all depends.


Friday night, four in the morning. No calls. That small sting of jealousy - she's out fucking somebody else. And I can't help but imagining, how would it be having sex one phone call away?


I let her in. It takes until we are inside my apartment before we speak. I think she's been crying, the mascara making her eyes look like ashtrays. Her breath smells of alcohol and cigarettes.


It used to be we were together. Then she met this other guy, and now we're not.


She went to the bathroom - threw up.


Then we fucked.


I brush my teeth using a brush said to remove 70% more dental plaque than any ordinary toothbrush. The paste is filled with crystals that gives a fresh sensation of cleanliness. I use mouthwash  that lasts until I go back to sleep. I floss.

The shampoo I use prevents the creation of dandruff and the balm contains both C and E vitamins to keep the hair soft and healthy. I shave every day with one of those vibrating blades. I prefer those over an electric razor because it gives me the feeling of a closer shave. The after shave I use prevents irritation and the creation of pimples. The moisturizer I use on my hands contains aloe vera, ginseng and rosemary oil.

There are five different perfumes I choose from, mostly at random. Today I smell of Diesel. I trim my nose hair and clean my ears. I never wear the same clothes two days in a row, ever.

I haven't talked to anyone in four days.

Because having been born with endless possibilities and potential I began to feel more and more like Jerome Morrow, the character in Gattaca played by Jude Law. However, unlike him and his unfortunate accident (self-inflicted?) terminating his abilities for life, I made an active choice each and every day to squander what could have been or might become. Instead, I poisoned myself with cigarettes, alcohol and literature.

The reward, I felt, was that I knew about my own failure and that it was a chosen failure. A slap in the face of everyone trying or even dreamt of trying to achieve something. I had other priorities. I knew I could change, I knew how, and for every person telling me to get a hold of myself, to get a grip, I went deeper into my own successful enterprise of waste.

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