My eyes set upon an ashtray growing its own mountain of cigarette butts, from my horizontal position on the couch I could stick out my tongue and lick one of the butts if I was so inclined. Why I would be inclined to lick said butts is a thought to mull over for another day
I turned over on the couch and stuck my nose into the dusty seat cushions to try and avoid the shining sun. The silly, stupid shining sun, as if there was something to shine about. Interesting fact: the scent of dusty seat cushion is infinitely better than that of cigarette butts and a wasted life.
I tossed and turned in the dust for another few hours, but the sun was shooting its rays directly at the back of my head and the heat was seeping through my cranium out of my forehead and making the couch cushion awfully hot. I suppose the sun had made its mind up to destroy my plans to marinate in cool, dark, depressing peace. Damn you sun, damn you I say.
I heard a sound; my stomach churned. He was in the bathroom, surprisingly up early for someone who had spent the better part of the night fashioning a can-crack pipe, smoking crack, losing can crack pipe, searching apartment dumpster for cans to fashion new crack pipe, smoking crack, losing pipe – you get the picture.
I heard the bathroom door open.
“Hey shithead, get up, I need $20.”
My beloved was awake. I tried to ostrich my head into the couch, but what is one to do when the sun and one’s beloved join to suck your soul out of your brain. .
He threw one of the couch cushions at me, then a second, then a third.
“I don’t have any money,” I muttered.
I knew he heard me. God, I want to kill myself sometimes. Or kill him. Just leave me alone, why can I just not be left alone. I rolled off the couch, one of the cushions that had been sitting on my back rolled off of me and into the ashtray, providing us with ashy fireworks.
“Do you want coffee?”
I found avoidance at times is the best route, if I pretended everything was normal we could ignore the stupidity of the situation.
OK? Oh my helluva saints what the heck.
I saved the old coffee grinds to use as a scrub for my dry skin and got a new pot of coffee a-brewing.
A buzz flick said the TV was on and the booming voice of a man feeling really excited about some other man having thrown a ball really far entered the apartment.
“Hey, what’s for breakfast,” he yelled from the living room.
I leapt to where he was and said I would whip up some lovely eggs and toast, he gave me a thumbs up. We only had three slices of bread left – two whole ones and the loaf butt, but it would do. I kind of like the end of the loaf anyways – when toasted they morph themselves into the perfect balance of crunchy outside and chewy inside.
I buttered the slices of bread and placed them in the toaster oven. Toast smells delicious, like home. The bell pepper, tomato, onion oblate turned out beautifully. I carefully divided the omelets into two and plated them onto two plates along with tomatoes, potatoes and toast. This wasn’t going to be a bad day after all.
“Hurry there’s a good movie about to start,” he shouted.
The table had been cleared off although little ash particles managed to cling to the edges, I set down our plates and went to grab the coffee. Half of a cup ended up on my arm and floor as I tripped over a slipper left in the hallway. I set his cup on the side table beside the couch.
“Go sit over there,” he told me.
I kind of wanted to say fuck off. I also kind of wanted to have one normal people’s Saturday morning, so I picked up the chair and moved it to the other side of the couch.