Lolygagging this night, savoring it like a sucker with tasty insides.
Shoving away the unwanted flavors of lonely contemplation, considering instead the weight of the decision I will make, of where I will live and what city should light up my beaming aspiration as I crunch the tune of my favorite song in my head like recycled aluminum traded in for monetary gain.
My t-shirt smells like laundry- my mother would be proud- and the dimness of this apartment molds itself to me in the colors of grey and white and black, a suitable array for this solemnly silent king.
Somewhere in the back room, where my bed I never sleep in waits with fresh linen sheets and downy pillows, I remember the old me that was happy to fall into those folds, after a long day or a short day or any day spent with the girl. Maybe that’s why I never go back there- because it reminds me of something I cannot get back, like throwing a quarter over a cliff and wishing it had a string tied to it so I could pull it back and spend it on bubble gum in a candy machine, or pack it into my life savings so I could one day build up enough quarters to buy affordable diamonds.
The back part of my apartment is a shadow, partly creepy, maybe ghosts live there, or faint whispers of nothingness suitable for Poe and his ravens. Squawking, always screeching, holding only my closet and the clothes I must wear for work.
So I leave it alone, as always, and shut the hallway door so I can live in my living room, with the dimness that I have grown to love, with the pathological murmurs of SportsCenter and the millions of dollars those athletes get paid to throw balls into hoops, or kick balls into nets, that help to sweep away my unwanted thoughts, the ones I wish I could easily shut out with the slam of the door, if it were only that easy…