Wednesday, January 29, 2014

Frank's Apartment - The Mourning Of?

Waking up in his apartment was always a bitch.

No matter how much Frank danced with Mary Jane the night before, the vodka would always remind himn that he was mortal.

So, very, very mortal.

In addition to feeling particularly vulnerable on a Friday morning, Frank got a text message from his parents.

His older brother, the one who gave him the brown recliner, tried to commit suicide the night before.

"Who the fuck DOES THAT?"

Not commit suicide. But TELL someone their brother TRIED to commit suicide by way of a FUCKING TEXT MESSAGE?

Frank was outraged with no real outlet; same situation, different day.

The red LED clock burned a crisp "7:42 A.M." into Frank's skull as his fingers trembled to find the familiar pipe he's kissed for comfort a million times before. "WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT THING?!"

Nervously shaking, Frank lit his pipe. "Fuck, it's not even noon yet. What the FUCK is wrong with me?! Is it too early? Is there such thing as "too early" anymore? Does anything even matter anymore," he wondered.

Fuck it. Frank felt more alone now than he ever had before. At this point in life he realized if you don't make your own rules, someone else will.

It was still just a little before noon, but things like this didn't matter anymore. Frank did his best to get a few shots of whiskey down and find himself two bowls deep before accidentally dropping his pipe on the linoleum floor of his apartment and shattering the only lady he'd ever truly loved, his "Glass Goddess".

Just because a coffin wasn't needed this time, didn't mean the irony of having a shattered family was lost on Frank.

Why'd he check his texts? Why'd he leave his beautiful, brown chair in his apartment? Why'd he have to do anything he didn't want to do today? Worthless, no good day.

Things were so much easier hours ago. Can they ever go back to being that way again?

As he light a hand-rolled cigarette, the smoke engulfed his glasses and he gently set the Hi-Fi needle onto a particular vinyl album that spoke to his damaged heart only the way music could.

Maybe it's time to clear some things up and call his family tomorrow to talk about it all...maybe...

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