I'm baaaaaaaack!

Bear with me:  I have gone from "ridiculous" to "absurd" too many times. 

THIS IS ANOTHER ONE OF THOSE TIMES.

I wrote a story, and whether you want to read it or not is your business.  I am putting this here because I know that contributing to a website that I whole-heartedly love is really what I want to do.  I also do want to keep you guys in the know as to what I am doing in Chicago (not that I do much, but still).

Alright.  Here is a working copy of my story called A Brief Stroll.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Brief Stroll

I was looking to get away, so I decided to go for a walk the other day.

Well, it wasn't exactly during the day; it was about 11:30. You know how the weather in Chicago can be around these winter months, and if you don't, can I bum some crack from you?

I'm just playing. I've been off the stuff now for months. Horrible habit to get yourself into. You start off smoking some crack, and a few minutes later, you are attacking your roommate with a broom because you know he wants to take it from you.

Oh, I'm just playing again. You use a bat to keep your roommate away from your crack.

Getting back to the story: So, I went walking outside with a big black jacket, my warmest shoes, the greatest scarf ever crafted, and a pair of straight jeans I once saw on Brad Pitt. Honey, I don't care what those tabloids and fashion magazines say: there is nothing straight about those jeans or that God. Seriously, he just hasn't met me yet. But that is another story.

Anyway, I lock my dorm room, walk out the lobby door, and begin my little adventure. I didn't expect to do much; I was just wanting to go on a walk. I head down Fullerton. I'm walking, never slipping up once. There was a lot of slush on that ground. I had made it a good two blocks down the light-polluted, sludge-filled street, and fell ass first into a gigantic pile of snow. It wasn't so cold when I fell; my ass was stinging like I had just been spanked with a paddle. Actually, it didn't feel as great as that would have at all. sigh I pick myself up off the ground and get a large pile of snow stuck in my jeans. Great. Just fantastic. Surprisingly, the sting of the fall and the cold of the snow gave me an excitement that I haven't felt since I last watched The Nutcracker. Ooh, I love a good live show.

I fell on my ass, got back up and kept trekking. I passed a salon, a Burger King, a movie store (took a note to self to come back there in the morning), a bakery, a Walgreens, two bars and a gas station. I hardly saw anyone while walking; there were two cops in a car parked at the Walgreens. They walked out of the store carrying four 2-liters of soda and a box of Trix. “Silly pigs, Trix are for kids.” I made a smirk and took another step into sole-deep slush. My shoes were starting to soak. I was almost ready to raise the white flag and head back to the dorms. I cannot stand cold, wet feet.

I took a step across street after street, enjoying the sites and the nightlife as much as a sober kid can. I got to the end of one block and the beginning of another. They weren't ending. I ended up about 3 miles down the street and decided to stop in an alley. Don't believe everything that your mother told you: getting stuck in the alley isn't the worst thing that could possibly happen to you. I sat in the snow (I was already frozen solid), and proceeded to think:

Oh, I'm just walking away from my problems. That's why I'm doing this. It's cold outside, I have homework to do, there isn't anything more to say. I'm scared. I'm freaking out. I'm going to throw up. I'm fine. I am just chilling out. I like it outside right now. I like it. I like this. This feels...good.

In a spur-of-the-moment kind of moment the kind that defines what kind of person you will grow up to be, I pulled down my zipper and proceeded to jack off.

[Pause]

Don't ask me why I did it! I don't know why I did it. But I liked it. Hell, I loved it. I moved my right hand up and down, exploring friction and the wind chill. I was cold, and to make sense of it now, I was just trying to warm myself up. Nothing wrong with that, right? Just a guy trying to warm himself up in the most natural way that he can. It totally makes sense in my head, I promise.

I got bored after about two minutes. I cannot keep myself “excited” when it's freezing out, among other factors. The bum that decided to surprise me across the street was a MAJOR factor as to why I picked myself up once again, pulled my zipper up to the button on my jeans with haste, and decided that walking back is an excellent idea; it'd probably be best to end the night.

I must be crazy if only a few days ago I decided to jack off in an alley on a Chicago winter night. I couldn't at least go to a midnight show and beat it to a movie like Pee Wee Herman? I wasn't in my right mind. Then again, I don't have to explain myself to you. I'd like to, but I'm afraid you'd need therapy after it. And to be honest, I'm not going to be held responsible for ruining the lives of so many seemingly not-fucked up people.

Cutting through the alley, moving a block down and making a turn left, I paced back to the last street I passed. I saw a glove embedded in the snow near the crosswalk. I imagined there was a kid stuck in that pile of snow. Then my mind wandered to whether I should dive in to try to save the kid. Hmm...there is really something wrong me, isn't there? The little fluorescent man lit up and allowed me to cross his street. I crossed, unsure whether the man in the car waiting was mad that he was driving at midnight or was mad because I was in his way. Either way, I made it to the other side as quickly as I could. I looked back; the man had been glaring at me, as if he knew what I was doing just minutes ago. I decided to pick a more hardcore pace and jilted across block after block after block of snowy sidewalk. That part was a blur, though I do remember passing a run-down consignment store with disgust. The dress that they had on the front window display was a medium cut, faded jade dress. The kind of dress your grandmother would wear to try to pick up a guy at the nursing home dance. I was mortified, and my quickened steps slowed.

When I arrived at the corner of Webster and Clybourn, I found a quaint café across the street from the movie theater. I saw lights on and raised my hopes. Then, my glance at the counter was caught by another set of eyes. The evening worker, having short brown hair, beautiful blue eyes and a bright teal shirt on, shot me a smile that could melt metal. His skin was the perfect tone of flesh that I had ever seen, and the muscles that were poking out of that shirt were just enough to intrigue without losing any appeal. I think he might have given me a minor stroke; that is really how gorgeous he was.

The sign on the door of the café said that it was only open until 11. He stayed watching me as I stopped in front of the door. I looked him in the eyes, and I felt like we connected. Not in the “you-are-my-soul-mate” kind of way that stereotypical women dream about, but in a “wow-you-really-are-just-as-human-as-I-am” kind of way. We shared something, bonded, gazed. It felt better than being able to shop until you drop, but not as exciting as finding out the results of your HIV test came back negative. I stared at his eyes, thinking about where his life is going to take him and where my life is going to take me. I felt hopeful, optimistic. Considering how out-of-place my last activity sent me, this was the most comfortable thing that I have ever done before. Little did I know, this was completely one-sided. One of his eyebrows shot up after about 20 seconds, and he gave me a “what-the-absolute-hell-do-you-think-you-are-doing-looking-at-me-for-so-long” look. I snapped out of my diluted daydream, tightened my scarf around my neck and began walking home again.

I passed by more stores: a bridal shop, a tattoo parlor, a pizzeria. The sky above the stores looked so dismally pale orange with the black coarseness behind the pollution. It feels so much like stepping onto a cold Mars shopping street, if Martians were into gowns, piercings and cheesy bread sticks. At least there I would be able to float from store to store. Here, on Earth, I have to carry my own weight and bear my own burden. Well, that is until I can get myself a shrink. And that will be after I can pay off my student loans. And that is something that I don't want to think about. Ever.

So, I start to see the church where I know I can navigate myself home from. Half a block up, I see a door fly open. Bursting out from a bar in front of me is this couple, a tall man with glasses and a shorter girl with pretty make-up on and bouncy black curls. The two began to hug and kiss, soon turning into the world's sickest make-out fair; they were obviously drunk. The girl tried to speak, but the man just pulled her head closer to him, shoving that tongue of his down her throat. I couldn't decide whether he was making out with her or trying to reach his tongue down into her stomach to see what she had eaten for dinner. I made an observation about the two that I will surely keep to myself, but let me just say that it was certain that there was going to be someone regretting their decisions in the morning. He moved his hands into her shirt. Gross. Get a room. There is no one that wants to see that. Clearly, this was something that I really did not want to see. But then again, who am I to judge what someone should and should not do in public?

I got to about 20 feet away from them, when the girl pushed the guy against the bar, turned her head into the pavement and vomited in the snow. Right there in front of her shaking shoes (a little landed on her coat sleeve) was a bilious belch of bubbling barf. I stopped, trying to put the pieces together before I moved any closer to her up-chuck. The man she was making out with looked a little startled and started to go white; I was not going to be around to see him retch too. I bolted directly across the street, not making eye contact with either person. Once I was away from the vomit mistress and her soon-to-be sick make-out partner, I carried on towards the church. With each new step I took, I got another chill. I will never forget how awful that woman looked when she vomited (and not that this matters really, but she totally ruined that jacket she had on.)

Finally getting everything out of my head except for counting my footprints in the snow, the church appeared in front of me. I decided to cut through the churches stairs to get from point A to point B faster. You remember the hypotenuse in Geometry class? Best lesson I've ever been taught in my life.

I make it up the stairs to a miniature statue of a man that is clearly judging me. It was as if I had done something bad that I should make up for. I looked him right in the eye, and I could tell that he was disappointed in me. I started to look down at my shoes, feeling a little disappointed in myself.

Wait. Really? I care about what this statue thinks of me? Who the hell cares what a statue thinks?! To attack the Saint for his judgmental demeanor, I pulled out a tube of lipstick and proceeded to put it all around his lips. Hell, if I am going to be judged, I at least want someone that looks good doing it. I turned down the stairs and smirked. Make-up on a saint; how fast am I going to hell when I die?

I pulled back into my dorm room, slipped off my jacket, popped off my shoes that were a little soaked though still warm and cozy, peeled my scarf from my neck and unzipped my pants until they hit the floor. I thought of the how I could end my evening on a light note and warmed up a pair of my underwear in my microwave. Darlings, you don't know the meaning of the word “toasty” until you've got boxers on that are as hot as a fireplace. I lastly made a cup of tea, and thought about recounting my little walk down the street: I went for a walk. I fell; I got back up. I froze in the snow; I jacked off in public. I felt scared by an angry man; I chose flight over fight. I made a true connection with another human being; I was being lied to by my mind. I saw an interesting pair share something primal; I have never felt more disgusted in my life. I was judged; forgive me father, for I have sinned as well. And after it all, I got home in one piece with warm feet.

It felt like hours, almost days, going through so much ridiculousness for one walk. When I got back, I was shocked to find that only 40 minutes had gone by. I slept so well that night.

The other night's walk was just a little too much life for me to take again for a good while; later on this evening, when I am looking to get away, I think that I will just take the train.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Consider this story more like something you would hear being read out like a monologue. 

Mad lubs.  :)