It Hurts
The shower steams. Water runs through my hair rinsing the conditioner away. The heat feels good on my back. The razor floats over my face. Music blares. I sing. Loudly. Life is good, almost time. The gel goes into my hands and then my hair. Should do it. Address goes into my pocket. Door slams behind me. Two cab doors shut shooting Don and me towards our destiny.
It’s go time.
Everything is possible. Anything could happen. The adrenaline and excitement course through the cab, permeate it, drown the minds of its inhabitants.
…
She can’t come, or she won’t.
Let’s dance. Look at that smile.
Why isn’t she smiling? Why isn’t she looking at me?
Am I a joke?
Yes
…
The cab door shuts. Possibilities are drowned. Poisoned by the unceasing march of the hands on the wall. The cab zooms. We get home. Alone. No kiss. No hug. No love. No smile. No. No. No. Motherfucker.
Big deal. Be strong. Hurt. Failure. Why? It shouldn’t matter. It’s not fair.
I don’t understand.
Fuck you
…
Music blares.
My fingers untangle the pain.
They make it bearable.
They make it beautiful.
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