Misadventures of a Disillusioned Thief #002

-Sam Haine (@S_HaiNe82)

Had a dream that the block caught fire and the shittiest building was the first to go up. The smoke bled into the sky and suddenly it was night. The drips played with ten sided dice against the bombed out structures. You can take a look around and it stares right back at you. Stay fit. Stay sharp. Dress smart. Even if you haven’t stepped outside in a week you keep yourself on the level. The winter hasn’t seized but you can handle this cold weather. You’re acclimated and adapted. You’ve seen enough nights of sleeping through Northeast freezes. I’ve grown up after-dark on Manhattan maps before the big clean up. I’ve loitered and night crawled on Philadelphia streets with no cause. I’ve even slept with a drunken shiv inside The Forum Theater a few times. I just need to unchill a fresh pack of Camels from the refrigerator and simply leave the apartment.

The first signs of life are nothing special. Transients walking back and forth like it's still 1986. Some of them staring at their pocket computers; liking and agreeing with whatever the screen tells them to; pretending to be the professor and solution to the same problems that they themselves are apart of. Some others just blame the jews; pious nobodies and uninteresting nothings, rebelling from an easy chair. Noble darlings yet savage letdowns. Under no obligation to anyone and as they are still free under a bleeding sky. Untethered and in their own way illegitimate. "There's always a square trying to change the world cuz, they can't control it" I say.

Cigarettes taste better in the cold while walking among the frozen snow dunes of the city. They taste like they should, like sedatives from deaths lips...

Saw a twenty-something wearing a pair of #33 Patrick Ewing sneakers. He'll say, "But deez is throwbacks!". And I'll say "Suck a dick". Fashion report: Most people today dress like assholes. Some others don’t but, for some reason just look like assholes when they wear them.

Then I was crammed into a hundred year old aluminum Sarah Lee container called a subway and had to listen to the Oscar worthy outrage of mental patients on their way to some breeding frenzy of some sort - “Do you know what they want to open in my neighborhood? Nobody asked for that”... Stop acting like all the new eateries moving into your neighborhood is beneath you. These forced herbivores will tell you, "Pssh, how come we didn't have hand rolled Chinese noodle shops, sushi bars, juice bars, Mexican food trucks, and whatever back in the day"? Maybe because, you were too happy drinking twenty-five cent sugar waters, stuffing your chins with McDonalds all day, and eating spaghetti out of cans to know any better. Kennedy Fried Chicken is for Hoggish Greedly, it’s not gourmet...

And when is enough going to be enough with the acoustic guitars on the trains? For every 15 stops on the local, you'll hear the same college playlist: Beatles, Lennon, the Dead, whatever. And please stop with the cover versions of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah", it's as annoying as a hipster, know it all, college prick, pumping his fist away from his appletini every time he hears "Under the Bridge" at some PBR bar. He’ll say, "This is my song Maaan". The songs about Heroin, asshole.

I finally arrive at the multiplex with a pocket full of drinks and ready to watch CHAPPIE’. With only eight people in the theater it can’t be that bad. It’s wasn’t that bad. There were some blips but nothing that ruined the film. And most of the bad reviews that the film received made me second guess whether these talking heads actually saw the film or not. It’s much better than Elysium and that films hentai-tentacle subtext shoving itself down your throat with its polarized two dimensional characters. Die Antwoord weren’t bad playing themselves, or rather a version of their Die Antwoord personas. It was a good movie about a new sentient being learning the human experience without being patronized and told what it is to be human. He didn’t learn morality from cartoons like most nobs did and hoped he would. He learned from hard lessons and matured. I just really like seeing this modern dystopian South Africa that Neil Blomkamp presents, much like in District 9. I kept imagining what if he did another film in this way starring Charlize Theron speaking in her native accent. Good film overall.

Then when it was over. I was back outside and back on the friggin’ train. There were cute female faces but none looked my way, except for the mature redhead texting away on her smart phone. She looked at me with green eyes and smoky shadow. We smiled. I glanced at her hands and slid my hand closer to hers. I combed over her profile with my vision. Her composure was relaxed and lucid. The kind of glow you get after sex. She’s maybe in her forties; I’m just thirty-three like J.C. Maybe she's returning home after seeing some lover. I wondered who, what, where and how. Was he/she her husband, boyfriend or did one or the other know about a third? Was it after dinner? Did he kiss her first or fuck her immediately? Did he pull her hair or pin her down? Was it in a bed or over a table or somewhere dark or against the wall, real hot and heavy? Was she already wet or did he have to lick between the lines? Was it soft and delicate or did she prefer it rough? She was wearing tight blue jeans and brown knee high boots with the pointed toes. Did she want to show off her curves? Was she wearing any undergarments or did he pull them to the side as he entered her? Did any of these things happen and did he take her like I would have? I watched her and she watched everyone else like she was in a dream of her own. I wanted to read her name and seat her on my lips. We got off on the same stop and I walked up the stairs and light a new cigarette. I looked back and she was across the street and gone. And all those things that never happen in a city of eight million people. The sky was still bleeding when I got back home. I laid in bed like nowhere and thought of women. I thought of ghosts. Then I woke up and it's another day.