With a plastic bag in her left, holding her nightwear, she opens the door. I snatch for a fleeting movement the door hanger, librating between lights. PLEASE DO NOT DISTURB! And the door clicks. Nothing. No relief. No regret. Sadness, stronger, closer to functional reality than usual. And I can´t wait to masturbate. And I want to save her, I want to fight the emptiness inside of her, or I want to feel less hypocritical. The knight and his loyal steed left after he jerked off behind the next tree. Her breasts fake tits. Her tattoos tacky asian erotic stereotypes. A heart with no beauty, only another declaration of gender distortion. I still smell her, her cheap makeup, the drooling sweat of a man´s army, dropping their precum on her, like a magic tincture, aroused by the possession of power, the king and his concubines, the drunken looser and her precariously desperate doll. In short episodes the night before flashes. Another guest next to me, not fat, not heavily tattooed, not the foaming red-faced madness in his manifestation of patriarchy, but in an expensive suit though with sneakers in the end, young, successful and punk. He is pointing impatient at girls on the stage. His demands brazen, shameless in its presentation. The man likes his power. Next to his dick his potent pocket, and next to the insanity of his arrogance. His awareness of power, knowing the power of power, obsessed, possessed, of the delusion of control I can nearly touch, but I didn`t want to break his nose. “No, the other one!” He is turning around, looking, expecting a pal next to him, because in the end we are all men, and they are the women, “Who likes fat woman. – No! Not the fat girl, skinny. Skinny, sexy. Chubby, ugly. Ok. Ha-ha-ha. You understand.” His instructions presented with a smile, as he just finished the best and most ordinary joke, a fat girl in a striptease bar. “I like their sense of humor, not a big deal, I love the girls, cute, sexy, know business, but pal, I never ever pay for the night, we are clear ok.” I remember I reacted. – I fold back the blanket. I smell her vagina. Or maybe a perfume. I am looking for my purse. Of course I expect she stole it. Not once in my life wherever I dragged the dark shadows of socialisation across th earth´s curvature, my racist expectations were roughly satisfied. I feel disgusted. With myself, with human nature, with the sick nature of human kind. I find the purse, on the nightstand on her side of the bed, a couple of dollars left, enough if you have nothing. I wish now she would have taken it. To pay me off, my shame, for who I don`t want be and who I can´t terminate. “Drinks for everyone!” Another episode. I remember why there is not many dollars left. “Are you crazy?” The man in his suit talks. “Why would you do that?” Probably american I think. “I have fun.” “We are all here for fun, that doesn`t mean you have to pay for all the cats to follow the tamer. You know how this works right?” Yes, american, I am sure. “Do what works for you, circus clown.” You guys are convinced saving people´s life and installing freedom with blood high up to your throat, I think. Except his observing arrogance making an appearance here and then, no more eposiodes with this guy for the rest of the night. – I told her she can relax, after I haven´t even ordered a drunk yet. “Yes you come with me, only sleep ok, don´t worry.” I was already drunk, felt terrible, left behind (by myself), in need of compensation. And it would make us both probably ok. She ate. She took a shower. She felt asleep. I didn`t. I was thinking about love. Her vagina was dry. She is ecstatically moaning in my ear. I am impressed. All these techniques perfectly orchestrated. I can feel the bags in her breasts. Her vagina stayed dry. “I don`t want.” I don`t know if I wanted or not. But sure it was not what I need. I paid her. She got dressed, stuffed her plastic bag, smiled at me, and I think there was some juvenile relief in her look, or maybe it was more a “What an idiot!” assessment.
The day will just go by, like a dream, to wake up in a cathartic sleep. I chose a coffee shop in a shopping mall to dream. At the neighbouring table a young fancy looking couple with her daughter, maybe around 5 years old. She was in a mood. “Am I an idiot?” And in my head I hear the suit guy laughing, a specific laughter, like a summary of all fucked up values fucking up our fucked up life every single fucking day, because of people like him, who don`t get, that there is nothing to get, except that he is the first fucker on my list who shall be fucked by an army of prostitutes, with the most fat vibrators they can find. I want to meet him now and break his nose. What an asshole. I hope she stole everything from him, including his desinfectant post body spray, his golden plastic card and his biggest trophy, his dick. And I hope she broke his nose. Suddenly the kid at the next table starts to weep bitterly. Like you would not expect from a 5 year old kid, or maybe only from a 5 year old kid. Her parents try to hear what is wrong, she is gasping for breath, her whole body. “What world we live in where 5 year old beings have to suffer such grief and distress. Why the parents don´t hug her.” I want to go over and, but of course I know this would be completely insane, hugging another being which is in pain. “What a world!” Then she speaks. “I… [gasps] am not beauti [gasps], I am not beautiful.”
She left with a plastic bag in her left. Her vagina was dry, her expression empty, like the word LOVE.
