Description
Seething rage. Those incompetent wankers! Stupid fucks! The inane drivel that they let fall out of those arseholes in their faces and call conversation! Conversation – break room hell!
At I leave the office building, I spit onto the side walk, dangerously close to the over-polished shoes of some executive suit waiting for a taxi. Fucking suits, wearing their wealth for all to see. I walk a few meters to the right, to the bus stop, to the crowd of office drones just like me, just clocked off, stinking of sweat, stale deodorant and frustration. I hate them, hate them all, stupid bastards, crowding me, in my office cubicle, at the stop, in the bus...
Twenty minutes to the end of hate and anger.
Twenty minutes to alleviation.
Inside the bus. The stench of human sardines, of people who have worked all day, sweating in overcrowded offices with insufficient air conditioning. Or none at all. I am pressed against bodies upon bodies, worming myself through the crowd. Trying to breathe as little as possible. Fighting nausea. Forcedly rubbing up against stinking, sweaty strangers. Someone has farted, a few stops back, and the rotten stench has lingered. I am so disgusted, I want to scream.
Thirteen minutes to the end of nausea, disgust.
Thirteen minutes to relief.
Then I see her. Like every day, she stands a few meters away from me, near the middle door. Her hair done, but a bit dishevelled from the work day, a few strands have escaped across her face. She listens to music. I can see the cables of her earphones, can see her sometimes nod the beat, can see her smile absently among all this ugliness.
And I want her.
She is wedged between all those stinking office drones and I want her. There is stench and ugliness and suddenly I imagine myself being one of the drones next to her, pressing up against her, feeling her warmth, smelling her hair. She shifts slightly, and her coat falls open a bit and I can see the curve of her breast and I imagine what it might feel like against my shoulder and what it might look like with the shirt out of the way.
When she gets off the bus, I feel a stab in my heart, and my mind twists the knife, again. Like every time.
Five minutes to the end of lust and obsession and what? Love?
Five minutes to salvation.
My stop. I get off the bus and almost start to run. Three minutes. I am at the door of the house. My hand, holding the keys, shakes with anticipation, with anxiety, with need. I stumble on the stairs, once, twice, my shin hits the corner of a step, but I don't care. One minute. I almost break off the key in the door to my flat. Fling it open, throw it shut. I don't even take off my coat or shoes. Just stumble into the living room. There it is. My altar. The place of my salvation. The electrodes are cool in my hands. Against my temples. The control unit hisses and whines quietly as it fires up. Green lights flash. The screen lights up. Menu. Scan. The list. I highlight, I select, I cut. I delete.
Hate and anger vanish.
I select, I cut, I delete.
Nausea and disgust vanish.
I select, I cut, I delete.
Lust and obsession vanish, and what, love?
I edit in.
Contentment. Quiet contentment. I slowly release the nervous breath I have been holding all day.
Contentment.
Salvation.
And it does not even worry me that suddenly, I cannot even remember her face.