Lonely Man Chronicles: Intermission

by admin on July 10, 2011

Lonely Man Chronicles


The room is freezing and coupled with the fact that he has to pee, it’s the only reason why he gets up out of the bed at 6:15 a.m. The bathroom is only ten feet from him but it may as well be across the street as his legs haven’t received the message from his brain to get into motion. The culprit of the artic temperature is his one month old window unit air-conditioning bought from Home Depot for the ridiculously low price of a hundred dollars. It was the first one he saw on the showroom’s floor and like that, it was sold. A hail of a taxi, a quick carry up the two flights of his apartment buildings stairs and a disregard of its instructions, and it was up and in his window approximately one hour from the time purchased. It may take up half of his middle window (he has three, side by side), but it does the job well. Almost too well as he still is curled up, bladder bloated and shivering on a Sunday morning. Turning over on his back, pulling his knees up to his chest, he kicks both legs forward causing him to literally roll out of his queen-sized bed and as both feet hit the floor and he is standing erect, his hands go over his head in mock glory over his amazingly nimble dismount. Judges? Perfect 10’s all around!

Four steps and as many seconds, he is in the bathroom struggling to find the light switch with his left hand. The site that greets him in the medicine cabinet’s mirror is the same pathetic one that greets him every morning. Nothing new there, on to his next order of business. Toilet seat up, dick out, relief comes in streams, spurts and ending in drops. He pulls up his Adidas sweat pants, ties the cord within and flushes his toilet. Washing his hands, he looks up into the mirror once more. The sleep around his eyes from last nights’ erratic slumber can be felt with each blink. The dried drool has left white traces along the corners of his mouth and cheeks and if he was a betting man, his pillows would have those same tell-tale patterns on them. Why bother washing his face when he is only going right back to sleep? Hitting the lights he heads back to his bed but not before grabbing the sheet that has somehow grown feet in the middle of the night and made its way as far as the left side of the bed, bunched up on the floor looking up at him as if to say, “Hey, I least I tried.” Bending over, grabbing it (gotcha!), he wraps himself in it as he lays back down, pulling the sheet over his head to fend off some of the cool air in the room. At last, warmth.

Sure enough, his pillows have moist, light spittle across them. No surprise there, he thinks, shoving one under his head but not before doubling it up to support his neck further. With one deep inhaling of breath paired with a slow release, he closes his eyes absorbing the droning whirring of the cooling unit five feet from him into his subconscious, allowing it to blend in with his already tired thoughts as sleep overtakes him once more.

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