Aldous.doc.rtf

Part one

He sighed loudly and the lady next to him on the bus glanced at him. It was an inconspicuous glance, she did it through the reflexion in the window, so as to make it secret, and it worked, he didn't notice. The lady smiled at her ingenious way of sneaking a glance, which she had developed over five sordid years of the city transit system on her way to and from work. She has to transfer, but only once, she was thankful. Her friend, Martha, has to transfer twice on her way to work! Once at the mall, and once again at 41st Avenue, but then again she has her husband to pick her up on the way home, unlike herself. She lingered in the thought of maybe having someone to pick her up from from work at the end of a long hard day, a day such as this maybe, and save her from the harsh, long, and really just uncomfortable rides to which she had sadly become accustomed. 'Maybe it wasn't too late to find a man' she thought to herself, 'people always say there is someone for everyone, surely there must be someone for me, out there' even if it was way out there. She wasn't mistaken, she was only twenty seven and still a very attractive young woman, or lady, as people often called her, though she felt the term suited the dog more than herself. She had long brown hair, somewhat sun kissed from her last couple weekends at the beach, and a thin, slender figure, with curves accentuated by her tight fitting dresses or business suits. She didn't consider herself a businesswoman by any means, although in truth she supposed she was. She liked to think of herself as more free spirited, more lively with emotion and free thinking, she liked to think of herself as an artist. she found that a common misconception people made was that being a bad businessman, or woman for that matter, makes you a better artist, but it was just that, a misconception and, sadly quite common. In her life she had found a steady medium between her boring, number crunching life in the upper floors of GE's main office and the open minded free spirited persona she adopted over the weekend, hence the sun kissed hair, and she was even getting a tan, which she quite enjoyed the thought of, seeing as how it was only the beginning of June. So here she was sitting on the bus and the guy beside her was now yawning. She snuck another glance in the window reflexion, a longer glance this time, so as to catch some of his facial features in her minds eye. She caught several and was pleased with the results. He was a good looking young man, of age not dissimilar to hers she thought. The man had ear length dark hair, it was a bit wavy, or so she thought, the reflexion wasn't too clear after all. The last feature that caught her eye was his eyes, they stood out bright in the reflexion, they were green, no brown, wait she remembered the name for this color, her old high school boyfriend had had the same color, oh what was it now. Hazel! The man beside her had hazel eyes. She smiled to herself at this little success, it's always a pleasure when you remember something you thought you might have forgotten, and she thought it suiting to indulge this pleasure with a cute little, no teeth showing, smile.
He glanced at the window again. Still she was gazing into it. Was she really looking out it? At what? There was nothing of much interest outside, just boring old buildings, nobody even seemed to be on the streets. Then again there are a lot of lost souls on the bus these days, all of which just look out the window, he guessed they were dreaming when they did this, but she didn't look much like a lost soul type. Anyhow, he was sure he had seen her smile at him in the reflexion, just after they had caught eyes. If she was interested in him why didn't she just turn to him for real and say something. Maybe she was shy? Girls sometimes had a funny way of showing interest, well guys did too, he just didn't take interest in that much. No, he was sure she was secretly looking at him. Now that that was decided what was the next step? Any guy in his right mind would say something, after all this girl was beautiful, she had a very cute smile and she was pretty much gazing at him. But what if she was daydreaming? What if she wasn't looking at him at all? He blushed very easily and he didn't much like the thought of saying 'excuse me but i couldn't help but notice you were gazing at me through the window's reflexion and, well i-i was wondering if you would like to go out to dinner with me friday night' (today was now wednesday but he figured friday was the safest). If he did that and it turned out he wasn't right at all about her reflexion gazing then that would really be quite embarrassing for him, there were probably about twenty people on the bus, and they were near the front. After much contemplation he decided he would simply write his number down on a piece of paper and slide it seductively into her hand as soon as the bus reached his stop. He smiled at his plan, he often indulged in little, self satisfied smiles. The bus rolled along. It gained speed too fast before the next stop and had to nearly slam on the brakes as to not enrage an especially angry looking businessman. At the next stop, a horrifying thought occurred to him, what if her stop was before his? He scrambled for his pen and paper, and managed to scribble in barely legible handwriting, even though, as a writer he often pulled out his pad to write down hand written notes. The note read, 'I'm glad I caught your eye in the reflexion. Aldous, 778-868-6214' He was lucky, he finished just in time. The girl turned to him, smiled softly and said 'excuse me this is my stop'. He looked at her, she was indeed gorgeous, he wanted to tell her , 'alright' he said and he stood up, the piece of paper folded carefully in half in his right hand, he was right handed, in case you were wondering. She stood up and he caught a whiff of perfume, what was it, lavender? No, he never learnt his flowers, it smelt good though. She was just brushing past him her hand touched his waist by accident, this happens often on busses, you may have noticed but Aldous took this as his chance, he took his right hand and slid it softly, safely into hers, pulling it away quickly but leaving it completely empty. He had done it, now all there was to was wait and hope that she would call.
She was off the bus before she had fully grasped what had just happened. She unfolded the note and sat down at the bus stop to read it, even though she could see it was only a line long, she felt if she sat down she could take it in better. She unfolded it carefully and read it 'I'm glad i caught your eye in the reflexion. Aldous 778-868-6214'. She folded it back up, there was a slight smile on her face, but mostly she was wondering how her inconspicuous glances had been noticed, perhaps he had also been shooting inconspicuous glances, in her direction. Either way, if she wanted a boyfriend, she supposed she could have one now, and he was quite handsome after all, even if he did take the bus.



Part two

He walked the 6 stairs up to the entry of his apartment complex. It was an old building, built in the 50's but it had been completely refurbished. It now had a fine new interior, the main entry was itself fully furnished with a decorative armoire and a little beige couch with an antique coffee table. On the coffee table there was a photography book called So80's with pictures of all the VIP's throughout the 80's, Aldous liked to look through it once in a while when he was waiting for a ride to come or something, it had some great photos of Christopher Walken. He passed through the old hardwood door and began the climb to the staircase to his apartment, which, after 3 weeks of climbing he had still not tired of. His apartment was three floors up in a four story building. Well, he approached his door and he could hear singing on the other side of the hall, just his neighbor, Martha. She sang often when her husband wasn't home, or at least she had been for the last three weeks, before then he couldn't be sure as he had only been living there those three weeks. Her husband would go out for walks every evening. Once when Aldous had had to go over and borrow some sugar for his tea he had asked where Mr. Philips went all the time after work. Martha had responded he went walking and when Aldous then asked why she didn't accompany him the phone had rung and she had to go answer it, she ran over to the kitchen picked up the sugar virtually threw it to Aldous and picked up the phone, leaving him there wit the sugar and the door open. Aldous didn't know whether to head back and make the tea which must have been finished steeping by then or to stay and be polite, after all he hadn't said thank you or been dismissed. He decided he would wait. He heard Martha's voice lofting out from the study, 'ohhhhhhh really Vanny you didn't have to, I think you overdid yourself this time, really, he was just dying to get his hands on a pair of those tickets'. Aldous figured he was probably overstaying his welcome. He had visions of her reappearing at her doorway with a look as if he had just broken into her house and eavesdropped and they did not appeal to him. He closed the door and returned to his house. That's how he knew where Mr. Philips went nearly every night. Though he never found out why Martha didn't go along, maybe she had a bad hip, she walked with a bit of a limp he thought. Back in the present, Aldous opened his apartment door and put the kettle on. Tea seemed of great importance at the moment, he couldn't think of anything he needed more.
Aldous sat in his loveseat with his tea and his book. He was currently reading 'the doors of perception'. He was reading it because it was by the same author who had written 'Brave New World' which was one of his favourite books, which he had only read in the first place because the authors name was Aldous Huxley, or Aldous Huxtible, as it was said in Garden State. He was just getting comfortable in his loveseat when he remembered that it was called a loveseat and that made him feel temporarily lonely. He wondered if the girl from the bus would call. It was a long shot, he knew it. He wasn't even sure that she hadn't been dreaming and not looking at him at all. But he had a feeling that she would, or maybe it was just hope. Lately him and his friends had been pondering the sense in having a girlfirend. Aldous wasn't looking for love. He was looking for fun, and a girlfriend seemed a pretty good way of having fun. But along with a girlfriend came complications, so many complications. First there was the matter of always having to think about her when you go out with your friends. Do you take her along? Or is it just a guys night. And then there was the fact that once you got to know each other well enough she would eventually start taking interest in your health and every girlfriend his friends had ever had eventually tried to get them to stop drinking or smoking weed. He certainly would not do that anytime soon. And lastly, there was the drama. Everyone knew that girlfriends meant drama, whether you were the perfect boyfriend or not, they always meant drama. He had never known a case to prove this wrong. Aldous and his friend Brian had been talking about this about a week ago, when they climbed up to the roof of this apartment building and were smoking some prime times. Brian didn't think he could deal with all that shit that came along with girlfriends, and therefore, for the time being, didn't want one. Aldous on the other hand, believed that if you have a relationship where it is clear that you don't want to fall in love, or even where there is no possibility of love there would be a lot less consequences and a lot more fun. He was caught in this thought, (about how he really should try to get a girlfriend and have some fun) when the telephone rang. His heart skipped a beat, or two, or maybe even three, which is quite unusual and highly dangerous, even for a man of twenty nine


Part three

Was it too early to call? she wondered. It was about an hour after the bus encounter and she just couldn't shake this boy from her mind, not that she wanted to, she really had nothing better to do at the moment. She put the kettle on and made tea, this seemed an ideal day for tea, the rain was just beginning to patter on the window outside. Well, I shouldn't say patter, does rain ever really patter? Or is patter just one of the many inaccurate onomatopoeias we have learned to use daily though out our lives? She believed the latter, and deciding upon this she then proceeded to come up with a better onomatopoeia , you know, one that would suit the sound of rain hitting her window pane better. She came up with 'tipp', for this particular rain at least, 'tipp' fit it quite well. So the rain was tipping on the window and she was sipping her tea and she was also thinking, (oh that didn't have any assonance) about whether or not she should call 'Aldous' or the man from the bus as she still thought of him. She remembered watching all the television shows where the girl had got a number, or the guy had got a number and they went and talked to her friends about whether or not they should call and the friends would always say 'if you call too early then the girl will think you're desperate, but if you call too late then she'll think that you don't care enough' or in the case of a girl getting a guy's number 'if you call too soon then the guy will think you're desperate, but if you call too late he'll think that you don't care'. She thought about this for a moment and realized it wasn't an altogether foolproof way of thinking, and that it certainly depended on the kind of person the number giver was. For instance, if the number giver was really very much in love with the girl to whom he had just given the number to (from now on the theoretical number giver will be a girl, not a boy, as this was the case with her and the boy from the bus), or if the number giver was desperate, or even lonely, he would not care at all if the girl called him right away, in fact he would prefer it, and he would probably be much more distressed than insulted if she called later. Score on for the book readers over tv watchers. And then again if the guy was depressed he probably wouldn't care at all when she called, not that she wanted to go out with a depressed boy, but again, another point for non tv watchers. It was turning out to be a more difficult decision than she had prepared for and when this was the case her business side of her came into effect and she decided she would just face the problem head on and cll him right away, that way if it turned out bad, it would be over quicker, and if it turned out good, it will have been started earlier, a very logical approach to take going into the realm of the unknown. She picked up the phone and reread the message, she dialed the number; 778-868-6214. The phone rang twice.
It rang again and Aldous managed to regain his composure and he sat down quietly beside the telephone. He took a deep breath and picked up the receiver. It was an old telephone and it was the manual kind so once you pick up the receiver that's it, you're in the call, and the other person knows it because to hang up you have to set the receiver down, and this one clicked before it got halfway to hanging up. Aldous knew this and so he took another breath, as if the increased air supply in his lungs would fill him with confidence and uttered a single two words;
'Um hello?' His voice was really very nervous, it hadn't even occurred to him that it might not be the girl. To his surprise a comfortable, easy laugh came from the other end.
'Haha oh my... is that how you always answer your phone?' It was a girl speaking, he didn't recognize the voice...
'Excuse me? Well as a matter of fact it is usually very close to that, occasionally I leave out the um.' He attempted to make his voice sound somewhat hurt, as if this sudden criticism had struck a chord, which it almost had, but he found himself growing more confident, he could keep up this sarcasm all day.
'Oh, well then, I suppose that's alright, Just I was expecting a nice manly "Hello, this is the residence of Aldous, fine afternoon, may i ask who is speaking?"' The girl's voice was absolutely full of humor, he quite enjoyed listening to it.
He retorted 'may I ask who is speaking? Please!'
"Why the girl from the bus of course' The statement was plain enough, but each word was filled with a certain hidden excitement that both of them shared. Aldous personally was on the edge of his seat.
'Does the girl from the bus have a name? Or shall i have to refer to her as 98 b-line for the rest of my life.' Ohhh he thought, mistake, he had said the rest of his life, would she think that he was looking for a long term relationship? Relationships can get pretty scary sometimes, he hoped he hadn't scared her off.
'Well' she hesitated, it only seemed fair he knew her name, she knew his 'I don't much enjoy the idea of being called 98 b-line,my name is Madolyn,'
Aldous smiled, he hadn't scared her off, and he got her name. Things were going well.
'That's quite a pretty name, can you sing in french?' Surely she would get this, everyone knew about the little french character Madalein who lived in an orphanage and sang songs.
'What?Why would I sing in french, that's weird.'
...Evidently Aldous was mistaken, now what.
'Oh ok, well haha nevermind i guess, there's just this little french cartoon who lives in an orphanage and..well..she sings in french i thought you might know her... i mean, know of her, you know seeing as how you have the same name, well kind of... it's spelt differently i mean, i mean i think hers is french. Are you a french Madalein? Or one with the y?
Oh god, this turned bad quick, what the fuck was he doing he was just sort of rambling, surely she would think he was retarted or else ADD or something, oh fuck ok just stay cool.
'Haha I'm with the y, no french in my family, although i think it's sort of soon to start finding out where each others origins are.' She sounded just as comfy casual as she had starting off. Oh my, what a girl! he thought to himself. He discovered some newfound strength.
'Oh i quite agree, just, well, french is the language of love and i thought maybe a girl such as yourself would be well acquainted with it.' Oh he was smooth, a little cheezy maybe, but damn smooth, not unlike kraft peanut butter, damn smooth.
She giggled and opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again.
'Well Aldous. I would like to hear some french' She said this matter of factly. A simple request, not one to be turned down.
'Right now? In our very first conversation?' He was surprised. Usually he used french a couple dates in and he could woo the girl quite well.
'Right now' Very firm indeed. It seemed he had no choice.
'Well usually I wait'
'Haha what do you mean usually you wait? Why wait when you could do it now?'
'Dinner on friday?'
'Sounds lovely' She smiled, it did sound lovely, she hadn't had a friday date in ages.
'Ok, there is no doubt it will be worth the momentary embarassment' He smiled and covered the mouth piece as he cleared his throat.
'Madalein (he converted her name to french, she giggled) Il y a seulement deux heurs depuis notre permiere rencontre mais en ces deux heures j'ai penser a rien sauf vous. J'ai sue la moment que nos yeux ce sont devenue un dans la reflection que tu avais ce qu'il faut pour prendre ma coeur, et que peut-etre, si nous jouent les cartes parfaitement on pourra trouver ce qu'il manque dans nos vies'
...There was a pause.
It continued for about ten seconds.
'You know usually you say something after that, like "that was french? Huh." Or "ohhhhhh i liked it."' He waited for a response.
Madolyn's voice sounded a bit weaker, like her voice was suddenly coming from far away.
'ohhhh i-i liked it.' She really had, it sounded beautiful, she had no idea what he had said, but it honestly... it- it sounded so beautiful. It was as if a brick had been placed on her lungs and her breathing became heavier.
'Umm, what did it mean?' She really was curious. What were the words that had made her feel so strange inside?
'That, my dear Madolyn, is for another evening. I'll call you on thursday and we'll set a time and all that for friday ok?'
'Why don't we just do that now?'
'Because with my way, i get to talk to you on thursday.' Aldous couldn't help but smile.
She laughed.
'Ok, Ok that sounds perfect. I will await your call with much anticipation Aldous'
'As will I Madolyn, goodnight' he said, as it was nearly seven thirty now.
'Goodnight'
He went to put the receiver down. But picked it back up quickly.
'WAIT'
She heard the shout just in time. She put the receiver to her ear again.
'Yes?'
'I don't have your number...' This was indeed a problem.
'Oh right, haha man, and I would have waited, ok it 604-786-4326'
Aldous used the same pen and paper he had used to write the bus note. He copied down the number, this time legibly, with great care.
'Got it?'
'I do!'
'Ok, goodnight bus boy'
'goodnight b-line'
There was a beep and a click and a 'blurck'
His tea was cold by the time he remembered it, but that was alright, so was hers.


Part four

He had to get up early for work the next day, at about six o'clock. Now i said that he was a writer, and that was all truth, but he wasn't a writer by profession. No, by profession he was a salesman for a small pen manufacturing company. The name of the pen company was "Lechange" and they were very high quality pens, their most reasonable being sold at thirty five dollars and their most expensive being seven hundred dollars. Why anyone would buy a pen for seven hundred dollars he had no idea but he supposed for an avid pen collector, seven hundred was nothing, after all, he alone usually sold about five of those models every month. His job wasn't all that interesting, he worked in a white collar office and every day was more or less the same. He got a fifty percent discount on the pens, which was great, and as Lechange also sold notebooks paper he could usually get those quite reasonably as well. In fact, both the notebook and the pen he had used on the bus had Lechange's little italic name scribbled somewhere on them. Either way it was almost nine o'clock when he realized he was quite hungry and that he hadn't eaten dinner. He lit the stove, put on some water and made pasta. He took a package of homemade spaghetti sauce from the freezer, took the cap off and put it in the microwave. He then proceeded to stir the pasta with a large wooden spoon. Now, if you happened to be looking in through the window and watching this man stir his pasta with his wooden spoon, (as his old widowed neighbor Ms. Graham was actually doing at the moment. As that's how she speant a lot of her time now. She had a very good view into three different people's windows; Aldous's, Mr. Pattenson's, (who was a middle aged man, divorced and lost custody of the kids because of a drinking problem) and the Williams household, which consisted of the Williams, James and Rachel, their two year old son and a very cute dog, of which breed Ms. Graham couldn't be sure, as she didn't know her dog breeds very well.) As i was saying, if you were in Ms. Graham's position, looking in at Aldous stirring his pasta, you might say he was looking a tad distracted, or maybe, preoccupied would be a better word. Ms. Graham wished she knew what was on his mind, it had been the first time since the arrival of her favorite spyee that she had seen him looking quite this way. Usually, she thought, he seemed content to just sit in his loveseat with his lap top in front of him and his notebook beside him with a cup of tea and write. But not this night, not this night. No, he certainly was preoccupied. Meanwhile back in Aldous head he felt as if all the random thoughts in his head were being absorbed by this one large thought of...(he couldn't help but sigh) Madolyn. He was trying to think of a word that best suited her, not that he knew her very well but from what he had gathered he was trying to find a word. Was is sweet? Luscious? Suitable? Enchanting? Drop-dead gorgeous? He had to laugh at this one, his imagination was getting away from him. He tried to get back on track but one word came to his mind; ripe. Yes, she seemed terribly ripe. So fun, so full of life, so ready to be picked! He had to laugh again, his imagination was really too much for him. Ms. Graham seemed taken aback, why was he laughing, was there something funny on the radio? He hadn't said anything to himself. He certainly as being different today. But 'ahhhhhhhhhh' Aldous though to himself, 'how very, very ripe Madolyn was. How divine, how beatific, and yet how personable her laugh had been, how very comforting her soft voice, it had not betrayed any sense of doubt in him, he knew that this was a girl with whom he would be well fitted.' His pasta was done, he took it off the stove, put on the sauce and gazed out his window. To his surprise there was an old lady gazing back at him, she looked suddenly startled and scrambled up from her chair by the window, spilling her tea on her fine grey housedress. She glanced back at him and walked hurriedly away from sight. He pondered what he had just seen, and then, after quickly checking his reflexion in the micro wave door to make sure his face wasn't horribly distorted or frightening, so as to scare an old lady, sat down to his dinner, quiet, alone, but alone with his thoughts which suited him quite well.


Part five

After dinner he got up, put his dishes beside the sink, he didn't want to wash them tonight, you might say he wasn't in a washing mood, and you know something? You would be right! He picked up his laptop and began to type:
"The bus home from his work was beginning to become a dreary affair" He selected the typing and clicked with a straight finger the 'delete' button. He sat back with a pensive look on his face. Let gravity pull his head back from towards the floor, away from his heart. He thought maybe he could think better this way, if his head wasn't quite so close to his heart. An idea came to him. He sat back up and placed his hands carefully over the keypad. He wrote:
"J'ai eu l'impulse qu'un bague m'approchais. Ahhh oui, oui, une bague m'approchais. J'ai couvert ma bouche et laisser a faire n'importe quoi qu'il voulait. AAAAAHHHHH. Oui, oui, une grande bague. J'ai eu l'impression que quelque me regardez. J'ai pris une petite glance a ma droite. Non, rien ici. J'ai pris une petite glance a ma gauche. Hmm, il y avait une fille. Elle semblait etre a peu pres mon age. Elle etait tres belle. Mais elle avait une qualite, peut etre, approchable? Elle regardez dehors, mais a quoi? Il y avait rien. Sauf des rues desertes et des vielles batiments. J'etais en train de tourner ma tete en l'autre direction quand mes yeux ont vues une autre paire. Ils appartenaient au fille. Elle me regader dans la reflection? Hmmm, j'ai pense a moi meme si cela pourra etre le cas."
He continued writing, writing out pretty much a journal of the events that had taken place since his bus encounter, in french. Except that he wasn't actually very good at french and so there were many spelling mistakes and he was quite certain he had made up at least one or two words. But all in all he was pleased to have something to write about and, at ten forty seven, he set off to brush his teeth, wash up and "head to bed". He had good dreams that night. He even remembered them in the morning.

Part six

The day started off as any other. A brutal awakening by his alarm clock at six. An approximately fifteen minute long shower, the first twelve of which he was still mostly asleep and the last three he spent vigorously trying to wash and condition his, and wash his body as quickly as possible so he wasn't late. At six seventeen he poured the milk into his vector cereal. At six twenty one he was done his cereal, had briefly scanned over the news, nothing catastrophic, thank goodness, and was making his morning mug of tea, which he would take with him to the bus stop and usually lasted him until the end of the bus ride before he finished. At six twenty seven his tea was steeped and he put his milk in and a teaspoon of sugar (he was gradually cutting the sugar out) it really added up after a while. At six twenty eight he glanced out his window at the trees blowing in the wind. Something caught his eye before he turned away and he looked up at the windows across the terrace, weird, he thought he had seen something. He left and locked the place up at exactly six thirty. He walked the two minute walk to his bus stop and waited two minute until his bus came at six thirty four. 'You know what that is?' he said to himself, 'That's precision?' He laughed to himself, ahhh one of his favorite lines from one of his favorite books "the catcher in the rye". The bus was fairly empty, as usual, he recognized the faces and he felt that maybe today, as his spirits were high, he should try to get to know one of them. He chose a middle aged man, in a business suit, he was reading the front page of a 24. Aldous went up and sat two seats away from him.

'Ahh, i see you're reading the front page, really the only interesting page' he said conversationally.
The man looked up at him and did one of those smle nods, as if to agree but then went right back to reading the gossip page.
Aldous was not discouraged.
'Well, i suppose the back page is alright, but i never learned Sudoku, i'm not too hot a crosswords and that damn puzzle box on the first page? That has the answer on the back page? That's just stupid, I couldn't think of worse puzzle box riddles if i tried.' Surely this would get a response...
The man laughed and said.
'Oh, i agree with you on that one. I once came across one that was a tall, narrow box with the word air written in the middle. I swore it was air tight, or maybe air tank i could have settled with but the goddamn answer was "compressed air'. Can you believe? As if anyone would ever even think of that. I mean, compressed air? Come on. Seriously though, you should learn to do the Sudoku. It's fun."
Aldous smiled.
'Math was never my forte, but if you say so, I'll give it a shot... I'm Aldous by the way.' He reached out his hand, the man took it.
'Fred' The shake took place.
'You do look like a Fred you know!'
'Yeah, I've actually been told that a fair bit. I guess you look like an Aldous.' At this Aldous smiled. He leaned in, so as to make the conversation more private.
'You know,' he said 'I recognize just about every face on this bus. I could pick them out f a crowd and yet the only one I know the name of is you Fred, and that's only because I came and introduced myself.' Fred looked a bit embarrassed 'No, no, it's alright haha, i only came up to you because you looked the friendliest. But don't you think it's sad that, in the twenty first century we can't even sit next to someone on a bus and make simple conversation? I mean, you would think we would know each other after all these bus rides bu we just grow farther and farther apart the longer we don't talk to one another.' Fred thought about this. He wasn't terribly bright.
'Well, we're all very busy people I'm sure...'
'Oh yeah yeah, we could make a thousand excuses I'm sure' Fred looked insulted, Aldous would lose him soon if he didn't do something quick, 'well, it's true we could, but where would that get us? Seriously where? Haven't you ever wondered, when you feel alone, how many other people are feeling alone at the very same time? Don't you think it would make sense to meet new people? Well we have an ideal opportunity here. What do you say?' Aldous knew he would say one of two things, either, "look kid, I got a good set up going here, I don't need anyone interfering, do what you want with your life, let me be, or he would agree with him and ask what he was suggesting. It was the latter.
'So what do you propose we do?' Fred's tone was a bit reserved but he could sense a bit of excitement.
'I say, my new friend, that we do exactly was I did today, see how many we can recruit until the we've talked to every face you recognize on the bus. Sound like a plan?' Aldous was getting excited.
'Sounds like a damn good plan Aldous!' Fred smiled, he certainly did think it was a good idea, and it would give him something to do instead of read about celebrities lives every morning on the bus, and really what was there to lose? He was a happily married man. He supposed Aldous was lonely right now, but he knew it wasn't his place to judge him, besides, what a great idea. Let's see who would his first target be. The bus was getting close to his, stop he would have to do it on the way home but he knew some of these people got off work the same time as him. He picked his target. A fortyish year old lady in black dress with a red chapeau, ah, this would be fun indeed. He turned to Aldous.
'Who you gonna get next?' he inquired. Aldous replied.
'The college student I believe.' He nodded over at a twentyish year old man, dressed in a purple hoodie and a blue and yellow striped shirt. "This guy would be easy" he said to himself. Unfortunately his stop was next. He pulled the string, stood up, bid his good-day to Fred and walked to the doors. The bus stopped, green light came on, he pushed gently on the bars and walked through the open doors with a grin on his face. Today would be a good day.

Part seven

On the way home from work, it had been a good day at work, I'm sure you were dying to know. It was Craig's birthday today and he had brought doughnuts for everybody, Krispy Kremes actually. And seeing as how three of the girls in his office were dieting he got an extra one. Oh indeed, it did not take much to make it a good day, just a positive attitude and unexpected doughnuts. Madolyn wasn't on the bus, in fact he had never seen her before, and he would surely remember her had he seen her before. She probably took a different bus usually she was probably going to a friend's house, or maybe she usually just caught it at a different time, it was not unlikely seeing as how he got off at four thirty and most people got off at five or later. Either way he went and sat down near the back of the bus, in a seat facing the front, he didn't like the seats facing sideways, every time the bus accelerated you fell against the person next to you, or had to use all your strength not to. The bus was much too crowded to do his little experiment, besides he wasn't really in the mood right now, he wasn't too thoughtful, he was more vacant feeling, not in a bad way though. When he reached his stop he did the usual "get off the bus" ritual and walked the two minute walk to his apartment. Once he got in he went and sat down in the little couch in the entry, it really was a very cozy room, it had just started getting a windy out, a blustery day! He looked through So80's and smiled as he came across a great picture of Kate Moss at a party.

Part eight

Ms. Graham was having a very quiet day today. First thing after she had got up she had sat in her chair by the window to see if anything interesting were happening. She spotted Aldous (not that she knew his name) just as he looked up in her direction and she darted out of sight. Deciding that she would give spying a rest for the rest of the day she drew and had herself a long bath, with bubbles! Just like her mother used to draw for her when she was a little girl, she thought. She had grown up in a very rich family in Connecticut, and there had never been any trouble with her having a nice hot bath every morning, she had loved every minute of it. She still loved it just as much, she found, maybe a little more because now she had a more luxurious bath, and even thicker bubbles that lasted for hours. But alas, she had had to get out of the bath, she very well couldn't stay in it all day! She made herself some french toast and tea and sat down to read the morning paper. There had been another gang shooting. Horrible stuff, she thought. Why, in her day, crime had at least been reasonable, they didn't need eight armed men to rob an old man, and they certainly didn't beat him senseless for no reason after they had done it. Oh, it was brutal. Why, she could remember being in a bank once when she had been traveling out west with her friend Elliotte, and it was being held up. She had almost admired the two men that had done it, she had to respect them just because of the way they did it, they made sure they didn't have to hurt anyone, in fact they even said that was the last thing they wanted to do. Yes, crime had been run by gentlemen in those days, and even though they were still criminals, one couldn't help but feel respect for them. But now, now she thought, people driving by with machine guns! Shooting a car to smithereens, and now police were saying, the gang had targeted the wrong car. An innocent man dead because of these, stupid, stupid gangsters. Oh, what she would say to them if they ever had the nerve to pick on an old lady such as herself. She couldn't help but remember the words of her husband when they had been talking about this very subject some years ago "The trouble is," he had said "is that none of them feel the slightest bit of remorse any more. It's almost as if they're not human, they have no conscience." Well she thought, just wait till they were through with Susan Therealle-Batcher Graham, she would show them to feel remorse! She put the newspaper away with disgust and folded it up. Then she sat sipping her tea quietly. What was she going to do today? She thought she would spend some time out on her terrace, fixing up the garden it needed a bit of attention. She sipped her tea and changed into something more suitable for gardening. She owned the most gorgeous little apartment. It had all dark hardwood floors, with granite counter tops. It was carefully decorated with artifacts from all the places she had been throughout her life. She had a medicine man, from africa. She had a forty thousand year old crocodile fossil that she had snuck through customs from Australia. Carpets from India. Shells from Mexico, Jamaica and Costa Rica. Glass blown specially from the best glass blower in all of Spain. And finally on her wall, perfectly preserved in picture frames, were woven posters from Peru. Then there was the terrace, with two french doors that opened up to it from the kitchen, in the summer in flooded her house with sunlight. Not many apartments around here had terraces, she knew, there were only two in this building, and they were not cheap! But it was worth every penny when she stepped out into her homegrown paradise with a cool cup of iced tea or maybe even, if she was feeling adventurous, lemonade! She could spend entire days there. Last year she had set up a little coy pond she had seen at a garden show. The ladies in her book club certainly loved coming over to her place, she knew, and she never failed to disappoint. You see, Ms. Graham is also a great baker and cook. Her favorite meal in the whole world was Souffle Mignon, and hers was absolutely to die for. She had gotten numerous compliments over the years. She worked in the garden for most of the day. It really was a paradise, she absolutely loved it. Then, once she got tired, as old ladies do, she went back inside for a nice refreshing glass of water. She was sipping her last few drops when the telephone rang. She answered it the way she had learnt when she was twelve.
'Hello, Graham residence, Susan speaking' she spoke lightly.
'Well, hello ello! It's Sherry!' Sherry had been Susan's friend since they had met in Africa, they had been the only two white ladies in all of Kenya, or so it seemed. She smiled. The phone call took up most of the rest of the day and when it started getting dark she thought she should say goodbye. It sure was nice hearing from Sherry though. Sometimes it seemed like says went passed that she didn't speak to a single soul, but she knew that wasn't true. It was hard for a woman of her age, at eighty four a lot of her friends had passed away, Why, Sherry was the only friend she had left within ten years of her! But no one could ever say she hadn't lived. She most definitely had lived, and she had two sons to prove it, though they both lived over in Britain now and she rarely heard from them apart from the letters she got every month, which she awaited with pleasure. Now it was almost ten o'clock and the drunkard across the way was starting to stir, perhaps she would have a watch, she was never much a fan of television. Oh, but she had promised herself no more spying today. What should she do then? She picked up her book, went around to her little chesterfield and lied down. The light was just enough but she had to use a magnifying glass. She was reading a the book her book club had decided on, it was called "Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone" my, she thought, some people had quite the imagination.


Part nine

One or two days later. To be perfectly honest i forget what day this story started on, I think it was a tuesday, but it could have very well been a wednesday. So, supposing it was a wednesday then we'll go with "the next day". The next day, which, of course we know now to be thursday. Was a day to which Aldous had been looking forward to, anyone know why?..................................................................................................... if, in the second it took you for your eyes to scan over those dots if you were thinking in your head "BECAUSE ALDOUS GETS TO CALL MADOLYN AND DETERMINE THE SPECIFICATIONS OF THEIR UPCOMING DATE!!!" then congratulations, you win, unfortunately I'm fresh out of prizes so just go and give yourself a pat on the back. That's what Aldous did, not literally but figuratively. The day, I'm afraid to say started off fairly poorly. He woke up, did the regular rituals that defined his morning workdays but, at six twenty seven, when his tea was done steeping, he took a brief moment to relax and gain composure for the day. He gazed out his window and took a big sip of tea, it was the perfect temperature, just a little bit under "too hot". Now what happened next is really quite interesting, so I will describe it in color. His gaze started in the terrace just behind his building, a little dog was doing his morning business while his owner casually looked the other way. It then moved left slightly to the poplar tree just beside his window, where he saw a squirrel with a nut in it's mouth, he smiled and thought to himself 'ah, perhaps the only squirrel I know that hasn't been humanized.' Next, his gaze wondered upwards, but before it did he took another big sip of his tea. His gaze wondered up, he intended to look at the sky but something caught his eye before it reached it's destination, it was that old lady, she was sitting in her chair by the window, and she was staring exclusively at him. Aldous was taken by such surprise that his mouth opened wide and the tea fell out of it, as the tea was falling down towards his shirt he tried desperately, with both hands, forgetting his mug was in one of them, (with the top open), to stop it from hitting his shirt. Unfortunately, he spilt more tea on himself and ended up with a sullied shirt and half a mug of tea. Aldous looked up towards where the woman was, she was laughing. Ok... what the fuck was this. He shook his head and took his shirt off, put a fresh one on, put a piece of paper towel on the tea and hurried out the door. The time was six thirty one and three quarters, he would just make the bus, but he ran anyways. That motherfucking old lady, he swore it was like she was spying on him, enough to give him nightmares. On the bus he sat next to the college student. He tried feebly to make conversation but his heart really wasn't in it. To be honest he couldn't figure out why he didn't feel up to getting to know the college students, the kid had his ipod in first of all, which made it more difficult. when he got to work he found his boss was in a bad mood and, seeing as how he didn't feel up to getting yelled at he stayed in his cubicle nearly all day, the only time he talked to anyone is was when Angie came over to ask him if everything was all right. He responded with a despondent nod, and with a somewhat put off, but understanding face she turned away. The rest of his day was pretty much the same. Once he got home he went to his fridge for a little snack and realized he had run out of food. He took some cash from the stand beside his bed and went to Safeway. He picked out all the necessary items for daily survival, you know, green peppers, red peppers, apples, bread, a half a watermelon, peanut butter, some wagon wheels. He had never in his life had to worry about getting fat, he was always quite healthy and fit, even if he didn't exercise regularly. When he was paying for his change he felt miserable, again he didn't know why, he just did, he felt like taking it out on someone, even though he knew he probably shouldn't. The total came to thirteen twenty three, the clerk was about eighteen, still in highschool he thought, he handed him a five dollar bill, and on top of the five dollar bill he put the change. This infuriated Aldous. He tried to fold the bill up with his one free hand, his other was holding the groceries. The bill folded but not before the change slipped off and onto the floor...
'Really? Really? Does this bill look like a plate? Does it really make sense to put the mother fucking change on the bill? Clearly with one hand, when I go to fold the bill and put it in my the change is going to fall off, it's inevitable. How many people do you do this to. Do you have any idea how annoying that is? Look do me a fucking favor alright? Put the bill down after the change next time. Can you do that? Do you think? Maybe?' He heard a voice behind him.
'Excuse me sir, it's not that big a deal.' Aldous laughed, he turned in time to see another customer speak up.
'Actually I agree with him completely, it just doesn't make sense, I mean, it isn't a plate after all.' The lady looked pleased with herself, Aldous was pleased too.
"Thank you', he smiled and walked out the door. He felt better.
He went home. Took out his notepad and wrote notes on what had just happened. He had fun doing it.
He called Madolyn at seven thirty, he realized she might be eating dinner but he really didn't care. Besides he was calm again by that time ad he really felt like talking to her.
The telephone rang once, then once again, then once again, then there was a pause, and a very out of breath voice answered the phone.
'Hello?' she was pretty out of breath, it sounded hot.
'Hey, this is Aldous, I'm uhhh, I'm not interrupting dinner am I?' he asked it politely.
'Oh no, no, I usually don't eat till later' there was a pause, she figured she would say it 'I, ummm, I was just in the shower had to run to the phone.'
'Oh haha sorry I guess'
'What? No you didn't know... I hope, haha just kidding.' God her voice was cute.
'Well, if it makes you feel better, no I wasn't spying on you, but yeah I have a good story about spying ahah, it's actually got me kinda worried. If I call in the middle of the night it's probably because I'm having nightmares alright?' He was clearly joking, she a a smart girl she would catch that.
'Cute!'
Aldous laughed, so he was cute, alright, he'd take it.
'So as you probably know I don't have a car. Well, I do have a motorbike but not here, it's at my parents house, but that's beside the point. I don't have a car...'
'That's alright we can walk, I know a place close to where I live, it's great and they know me there, it's all very nice and romantic'
'Romantic sounds nice. Where do you live anyways?'
'Right by the bus stop you saw me get off at oooonnnn what, Tuesday? Wednesday?'
'Oh dope, ok, I haven't seen you around before I thought maybe you were just visiting someone'
'No man, this is my hood'
'Ha, gangster? Aight then girl, you know we're within walking distance of each other eh?' I got off the next stop. What's your address?'
'How about I meet you in the park?'
'Sure, at seven?'
'Seven sounds good'
'Seven sounds great' Aldous smiled
'Hahah yes, yes it does' This man could really make her smile. Everything he said sounded so simple and yet, in his voice, so deep, so meaningful. She had to tell him.
'Aldous, I think you should know now, I'm not looking for anything serious.'
'I'm just looking for fun and maybe a little companionship Madolyn' He hoped this hadn't sounded to straight forward, but she would find out eventually.
'Oh, well then I guess we'll be good for each other.'
'I believe so.'
'I'm excited for friday eh? To be honest I haven't been on a date in ages'
'We have so much in common Madolyn' he said jokingly, but seriously at the same time. She smiled, she liked his sense of humor, that was a big thing in guys. A lot of guys she had been with before were complete idiots, you couldn't share a laugh with any of them. She knew Aldous would be different.
'So see you on friday then?'
'Friday in the park'
'Goodnight Aldous' she said it affectionately. Was it too affectionately? Maybe...
'Goodnight Madolyn' he said it with an affectionate smile.
She was reassured. There was a beep and a click and a blurck
They slept soundly that night. Adlous didn't have any nightmares.

Extend My Metaphor. Part 4

Sven was thinking one day about something that had been bothering him lately. It wasn't so much a thought as a feeling that just sort of ate away at his insides. It ate away and left a trail of bad feelings and numb. Numb is an odd thing because you can't really say it hurts, it's just numb. i Guess it hurts in a way but if you say something hurts and someone asks you what kind of pain it is?; like radiating, sharp, sting, stab, numb is never an option. Numb is numb, but it still hurts, and for Sven it left a painfull lump in the very very back of his throat. You may have had this lump before. The word lump makes it sound most unnatractive but i only say that because that's what it felt like, i'm sure it didn't really look like that. So he was lying in his bed and he had a numb lump in his throat that he was trying to flush down with water. But water didn't work. He knew the next step was alcohol but he was a smart guy, he knew the second you drink alcohol to get rid of a feeling you're automatically an alcoholic, and Sven wasn't very much a fan of alcoholics. Not that he ever really knew one personally but he'd seen enough movies and heard enough stories to know that pretty much nobody likes them. Anyways he drank more water. And he was having a hard time pushing it down now. So he though he would call a friend. But which friend should he call. It seems like a pretty easy choice to make, call the one you feel like hanging out with. But you see, Sven had these days where he didn't feel like hanging out with anyone. Absolutely no one, which was pretty douche considering he was pretty much incapable of entertaining himself for more than two hours. HE often thought what he needed was a girlfriend, but he was much to preoccupied to devote his time to something like that. i Mean, don't get me wrong, if the chance presented itself and and he actually found a girl that he could have feelings for then he would, by all means, insitgate, or at least try to, but you must understand he sucked at that and he was just not in the mood, ever, to try to improve. That's really what this is all about, not this entire thing, i just mean this passage. Once you get a feel for Sven i think i'll let you just sit back and dream about him but i have definately not given you a feel for Sven. This is because, nobody has ever had a feel for Sven, not a real one anyway, they might think they do, for a bit, maybe, but ultimately no matter how much they've wanted no one has been let inside. Sven was pretty protective that way, maybe unstable, maybe protective. He wanted, after all, to look out for his feelings first, but seeing as how right now, his feeling, or maybe non-existant feeling was numb, he thought maybe he should call someone. Once in a while he really wanted to let someone in, he did. But he was as much scared of how that would turn out as he was seeing his friends dissipate, which he often thought about, seeing s how he treated most of them like dirt. He didn't mean to treat them like dirt, it just happened sometimes, and he felt bad afterwards. Sven really had a catholic conscience and he would feel guilty after doing almost anything, he couldn't stand it but it was one of those stupid things that make up a person.

Sven was craving an ice cream sandwich. He found that the ice cream and the cookie outsde went pretty much perfectly together. It was pretty uplifting whenever he had one of those. He would joke that while he was having it he thought about his arms being jacked or random shit like that, but really he knew that was a lie. All he thought about was how good the ice cream sandwich was and how he wished he could just eat it forever.

Extend my metaphor.

Time, dissipated to air, dissipated to waisted spirits locked inside the Mind of an unnaturally gifted young man.
Time, evaporated by life, vanished into rhyme, the last of his living poetics
Time, cast away to the dogs, hidden from the fogs of thoughts pulled aside for the time being
Thoughts, provolked by feelings, never uttered and cast away, to the back of his Mind, to never be released
Release, not be be thought of
Thoughts of this this dilemna completed with labels
Labels, destroying the meaning of his thoughts, destroying his escence of his existence and in the end
What is there left to think than what you started with?

Sven had heard those words somewhere, in a dream if you want to know. He thought about them, analyzed them and hyperanalyzed them. He thought about them, he devoted too much thought to them and he was having a very hard time csting them out of his head. Which is exactly what the words were trying not to have happen to them.

He inturpretted it as a message, sent from his subconscious saying "What the fuck are you doing man, you think you can keep doing that? Stop supressing!" but supressing was so much safer than release, and Sven was really quite a safe person, if you woud like to know.

It's not that release could harm him, or anyone, or anything in his life for that matter, it's just that he was not always a rational thinker and he had yet to realize that maybe release was the best option.

He had made a promise and that promise stopped him from release.

Ugh anyway, enough about that shit, want to hear a story? It's about Sven. A good story if i do say so myself.

Sven counted to three. One, two, two and a half, two and three quarters, THREE!!!!! He opened his eyes. There was a white wall, followed by a white ceiling, followed around to the back of his head by a red door. He turned, instead of walking backwards, and walked up to the door. He slipped his hand out from his deep hip pockets and retreated it immediately, he had forgotten how cold it was outside, his pockets were so goddamn nice and toasty... toast? dream? aww yeah... He rubbed his hand against his thigh and got some nice friction heat going on down there. He took his hand out, this time touching the door handle. Fuck, it was so goddamn cold, why couldn't he just be somewhere warm. He turned the door handle and pushed on the door lightly. Nothing happened. He wished he were anywhere but there, why was it so cold. Was the door locked? What the hell was he supposed to do if the door was locked, he couldnt very well jus go somewhere else, this was the only door, this one, fucking red, heavy, ridiculously out of place door. Should he change the channel? No, he was tired of that, he would figure this out once and for all, he knew he had to, once he found out what was behind that door he was sure it would make some kind of sense. But why was this so important to him? What could possibly be behind that door that was so important, and to his subconscious at that? Why was he so cold? Why was the door fucking locked he didn't have a key and there was no obvious hiding spot in the room for it to be. But it wasn't a room, he was outside, he was sure of it. He could feel the cold wind eating away at his back, yet still, as he looked around he saw no possible way for wind to maneuver its way through the walls. He turned, took four steps towards the back wall. Turned, facing the far wall. He ran, accelerating into a sprint, if there was one good thing about Svens running it was that he could accelerate into his top speed faster than anyone he knew, and his top speed was pretty damn fast. He ran full speed, for about 2 full seconds and lunged, hitting the wall with his shoulder. A cry came from behind the wall but he couldn't hear it, the pain in his shoulder was extreme but the numb in his throat was still overpowering it. All he could see was white, white pain, as if the bones were pulling themselves from his body and dancing around, perfectly clean in his eyelids. The pain was immense and he didn't know if he could take it, He looked around frantically, everything was white, everything. White is the color of angels? He saw the red door and crawled his way over to it, using the last ounce of strength in his body he reached up towards the door. He couldn't feel the cold anymore but when he saw his hand he realized it was nearly purple, not all that bad a color i guess. He turned the handle and the door opened. It was a closet. Inside there was a broom, a mop, and a fucking wheelbarrow, all purple. but something caught his eye in the far right corner. What was it, his eyes were tearing now and he was having trouble seeing but as he pulled himself slowly closer he could just make it out, it was a toaster, and there was a piece of toast in it. He pushed it down and waited. It took about 4 minutes until it popped up and when it did he wished it hadn't, the entire top half was burnt. Why hadn't he smelt it? He realized he could not smell anything. Why hadn't he seen any smoke? He realized that his eyes weren't even working right now, this was all in his mind and he wasn't meant to see the smoke. He took a bite of the toast, it wasn't very enjoyable, and there was no salty butter to make it taste good, but he forced it down. He forced the entire thing down and on his last swallow he thought to himself "maybe i should have changed the channel while i still could" but deep down he knew it was better this way. He swallowed hard. The toast was too dry to go down easily but he was much too tired to chew, he swallowed again, again.

Sven woke up sweating. Fucking bad dream. But whatever, it was a dream, what can you say about dreams other than wow maybe i'm a lot more messed up than i think. But at least he remembered it, that's all that counts. Sven had heard once that while you're asleep you have about a hundred dreams a night, but you never remember all of them... evidently. Each dream lasts only about one or two minutes even if you think it was your entire night. So when you take a look at the big picture, why would anyone concern themselves with a dream, it was a minute of your life, it was your subconscious and think of all the good dreams you could have had but you just didn't remember.

Enough about dreams, it's really a very tiring subject, just this friend of his had got him thinking about it, and you know how Sven is when he gets thinking about something. And i mean really thinking, not just wondering.

Wow Sven really had a sweet tooth today.

He was buying a new camera on saturday, and today was thursday. He was so damn excited. He was giving some serious thought to what his very first picture would be. He wanted to start it off on the right track, have a nice picture to show people, and part of him wanted a picture of him with someone but the other part wanted something a bit deeper.

If you think about it though, a person is really the deepest thing you can imagine. Thoughts, are really the deepest thing you can imagine, and people think thoughts, as we all know. So maybe a people picture wouldnt be that bad, he just had to chose the right person.

Who should he chose? Here is a list of names... Whoever gets the most comments will get to be in Svens very first, beautifull picture... Nevermind that's stupid. i think deep down he just wanted an ice cream sandwich really bad right now, like REALLY BAD, he didn't even know why, he just wanted one. Sven wasn't in the best of spirits today, he had those days ever ONCE IN A WHILE, like anyone does, and when he did he really just wanted an ice cream sandwich, or maybe just the cookie part, he didn't even need the entire thing. He hoped that the cookie wanted the ice cream too, he thought that it did, but he couldn't be sure. Cookie was pretty awesome if i do say so myself.

Sven was looking forward to LOST tonight!

Extend My Metaphor. part 5.

Irrational circles are actually pretty cool.

The day was overcast, which generally means that Sven was reflective. On overcast days Sven found that he was much more reflective than on sunny days, like the weather affected his mood. The weather actually does affect people moods.

Sven was thinking about irrational circles...

unfortunately for you he couldn't come up with them on the spot, they're one of those things that just come to you and you can't really think about trying to make. Some other time i will post one.
i Just realized why you can't think them up on the spot, because they're irrational, obviously. You can't think irrationally on purpose, the two just don't go together. Damn... Sven was having a shitty day today. A really shitty day, it was on days like this that he wished for drastic change in his life.

It's really amazing how many people are looking for drastic change in their life all at the same time and how no one does anything about it. i Think if Sven were to start an event on like facebook or some shit saying "Drastic change in your life" and set a date for everyone to get together then once everyone got together they could just like make out or something or like smoke pot or some shit or i guess anything they didn't do on a regular basis then i bet you anything at least 100 people would join. Sven was seriously contemplating this. Just one big ass party for all the lost souls, it was honestly a great idea. Sven was full of great ideas not unlike this one.

Would you join? Would you go to that party? Are you a lost soul? Are you looking for a drastic change in your life? Do you wish you could be spontaneous for at least one night? i Think maybe everyone does, at least a little.

Sven often wanted to go up to someone and say to them. "Take a look at yourself. What do you see? Do you like yourself? Actually think about it and i want to answer me a hundred percent truthfully, do you like yourself? Do you like where you are in life, where you're going? Why not? What are you really going to do to change it? You're honestly going to do that? Really? That seems like it's not really in the cards for you. If you say so man. i Have faith that you could do that, i just don't know if you will.

i Think it would be interesting to see how many people were happy with themselves. Certainly not as many as one might think. And what would people do to change it? And i mean actually do, not say they're going to like some fucking new years resolution and forget about it the next day actually commit to this, devote their time, effort, energy and money into this.
Sven believed that anyone could do pretty much anything, within reason, just nobody ever tried.

That was Sven's big problem, he never really tried hard enough at anything he did, and for that he would have to answer no the first of the questions. And he was giving so much thought to all the next ones too, because he felt that before he got to a certain stage in life he would have to find the answers to those questions. And those are not easy questions, by any means whatsoever, in fact they're fucking hard!

So riddle me this darling. What do you see when you look deep, deep down into yourself?

Yeah... riddle me that... i think that would be nice.

Extend My Metaphor. part 3.

The toast popped up on time, there wasn't a single burnt section on the entire piece, he would have good dreams tonight. He found that in general, if his toast got burnt he would have worse dreams, not scary dreams but just worse. They were, nevertheless, thought provolking indeed but the dreams he had on burnt toast just seemed to give him the impression that his life sucked. Which is why Sven was so pleased when the piece popped up perfectly toasted. You see, Sven never threw out a piece of toast. It wasn't that he couldn't afford it, it was more that he just wasn't a fan of mesing with fate. He believed that everything happens for a reason and if this particular piece of toasts destiny was to be burnt and give him bad dreams so be it, he would suffer through and once it was over he would know a little bit more about life on the dark side than he did before. And for that, he uttered a small sigh each time his toast got burnt, not a big sigh because he knew that although the next night would be much more unpleasant than usual, he would have something to look back on afterwards. The only thing about that theory is that one must not dwell in the burnt toast, once the bad dream is over you don't necessarily forget but you definately don't give too much thought to it, if that makes any sense, which i believe it does.

Extend My Metaphor. part 2.

So here he was, at work, writing some shitty story about god knows what, actually you know what... maybe... if you're bright enough, i'm not sure, sorry, i won't judge if you're not.

He was writing this story when Kevin walks by his little cubicle. I say cubicle instead of office, even though it is an office, although it is very cube like and messy and he never really felt like it was his, all in all very cubical. So Kevin walks by his cubicas and nods hello, it was more of a down nod though, which Sven had classified as the "go fuck yourself" nod. See Sven was the kind of guy who would classify nods. Up nod was friendly, "hello" if you will. Down nod was "go fuck yourself" . Right nod was "hot chick". Left nod was "i love you". In his life, Sven usually got the most use out of up, which is rather nice i think, although left would have been good too. Anyways, Kevin walked by and pretty much told him to go fuck himself. Sven didnt really notice or anything, or maybe if he did he just didn't care because he kept right on writing.

The contracts of his job were very odd. He was to write stories, which the company then took away from him and published in magazines and the New York Times or something along those lines, or similar ones at least. So technically he didn't really own anything that he wrote. The only really good think about this job was the safety and pay. He didn't get payed per story but instead monthly, that's really one of the benefits of a big company, job safety. Job safety and pay, actually. Also benefits but let's not go into those just at this moment, they really aren't very interesting topics of discussion.

So, Sven spent his days writing his heart out. Notice i didn't say little heart? That's because he didn't have a little heart, in fact he had a big heart and i believe you will come to see why at some point in your lives. Once, when the pretty little secretary from the front desk asked him why he wrote, as there must be little satisfaction in writing something that you will never be able to call you own, Sven responded "because writing is really quite a bit more fun than not writing."

Sven would often write about life. Not real life mind you, just life as he saw it, an entirely different perspective than anyone else, he knew it too.

Sven's life, as you may have guessed already, i guess, was a quickly detereorating material. He often realized this, it wasn't his body that was slowly falling apart but his mind. his excessive attempt to de-emotionalize everything was what seemed to be the last warning, his final straw if you will.

He didn't even realize it yet but his de-emotionalization was a subconscious attempt at alienating himself even more from society. Now i know that i've been going on about this particular fact but like it or not that fact that detereorating his mind away is the real purpose of this particular piece of writing. You want something a little more intuitive? Tough...

A year back, he was different but now he is the same, obviously. Everybody changes right?

A year back, it happens to be a sunny day.

i Walked down the street towards the pawn shop. It was a small pawn shop, just off the bad street in town. i Often wandered around downtown, not really doing anything in particular, just wandering. It all seems very romantic to me. i Had a crudely drawn map of the city, sketched out on the back of a Starbucks napkin. Whenever i go to Starbucks i have to get the chocolate croissant, or plain croissant for that matter but i don't really see the point in getting plain when you can get chocolate for like 57 cents more. See people have this annoying habit of putting fruit on, and in, every goddamn food imaginable. i Never understood it. To be honest i don't really like all that much fruit. For chrissakes i'm only 19, what's your rush for, i'll grow into it. My father didn't like olives till he was 50...

Anyways, here i was, trying to find my way around downtown Vancouver. i Had my camera with me and i wanted to get a picture from a bird's eye view of the city. So, naturally i went to Harbour Center, this big ass tower downtown. I went down to the base of it (it's underground) and walked up to the guy standing behind the desk in front of the elevator. i'm Not all that big on describing people but here goes... by the way i have beautiful hazel eyes...here goes... he was strangely short. Strangely because he didn't seem all that short until he stepped off the pedestal behind the desk. i Mean, i guess if you looked at him really closely you could guess he was short, like because of proportions, but at a glance you could hardly notice. He had these fucking deep, black eyes, almost scary really, you could tell he was had a dark personality, but anyways he sounded friendly. i Think he just got stuck doing a shitty job or something because something seemed to be bothering him. Also he was 26, i asked.

So here i am, asking him to let me go up to take pictures and he goes, all nice and polite and everything...
"I'm sorry, but you need to pay the $9.50 to go to the top."
I told him i hadn't planned on spending any money, particularily not that much. So you know what he does next? He pulls out a freaking map of downtown Vancouver and starts highlighting the way to the hotel Vancouver and all these other tall buildings. What a nice guy. i Thanked him, rather kindly really, and went out onto Hastings. It was raining now, i like the rain. It might sound dumb but i honestly believe that it can wash away despair. Not that despair needs to be washed away, not all the time anyways, sometimes it helps. It helps that, in times of despair, you can think of good things, if there are any, and you can remember. i Can't give this enough credit but remembering is really important because sometimes people forget. They forget their dreams, and really, dreams are what make a person, if you dont have dreams, i wouldn't classify you as a person. So if you never have despair you would probably never dream, because it can truly be said that you don't remember the good time when you're having a good time. That's my honest outlook on rain.

i Put my hood on and strolled upstreet. My hoodie sucked in the rain and it was getting all wet and heavy and really very uncomfortable. On top of that it was getting cold, and all i really had on was jeans, the hoodie and an american apparel shirt underneath. The hobos were looking pretty goddamn cold. One of them had this sign that said "1.12$ short of world domination". i Gave him $1.13 and told him my name was Sven and to look me up when he was in power.

Present time.

Sven woke up. The sound of his alarm clock always took him by surprise, every morning. It wasn't even a real alarm clock, it was a setting on his crummy watch but it was still extremely loud and obnoxious, as alarm clocks generally are. He often wished he could have an alarm clock that sounded like girls having orgasms, he though that would be pretty much the best sound to wake up to, but as far as he knew, no such alarm existed. The only conceivable trouble with that sound, he imagined, was that he barely has enough time as it is in the morning and if he heard that sound every morning before work he might get... distracted. Then again... in the morning he often found his mind wandered, if it had been evening, or maybe even mid-day i don't think he would have said this stretched, though not outrageous though out loud, but unfortunately it was morning and he had a handy habit of speaking his though in the morning, however outlandish they may be. Either way, he had very thin walls and his morning dreaming was abruptly interrupted by a loud knocking on the door... apparently, Sally had overheard.

She stood at the door. You couldn't really say she was dressed but then again you couldn't really say she was undressed. She wore a see through night gown, with her underwear on. She walked into his sitting room and quickly sat down.
"Let's have that drink" she said, rather matter of factly.
"i...Ummm...You know i gotta go to work now right"
"What are you talking about sweet heart, you aren't even dressed" she looked at him out of the corner of her eye, not unlike a girl in a red dress checking out the cowboy at the end of the bar.
"Neither are you" hohooooooooo, sly come back (he was thinking to himself)
"Well...maybe that's a good think, let's have that drink already. It's now or never hun and i'm thirsty." She reached to couch and fell down clumsily, she had been drinking, he body sprawled out.

It became quite evident to Sven that Sally didn't actually want a drink. Yet... Sven was still having a hard time deciding what to to. His boss probably wouldn't notice but then again, if he did then he would be fuuuuuuuucckkkkeeeeddd. Whatever though, it was Sally, a slutty goddess. Work could wait. But she was clearly at least tipsy and unfortunately Sven was not a morning drinker. He walked over to the couch and picked her up. The bedroom had a small door and it was hard to carry her through, so he decided he just put her at the front door instead. She was drunk after all...

That was pretty much all he could think about while he wrote that day, so if his boss read his story, it probably would have been more like an erotic short story. Mind you, i'm sure he would have liked thatt more anyways, he looked like that kind of guy...

Well, as far as that day was concerned nothing big happened, it was boring. Reminds me of other boring things, stories namely, this story specifically.

No one really likes going on trups. They say they do but really they don't. i Mean, sometimes i guess they do, like if something really memorable happens but when nothing memorable happens it just seems like a waste of time and money. i Really think you need to go on a trip with the right people, otherwise it's just douche, complete douche. i Just got back from not too amazing a trip...if you're wondering...

Sven was the kind of guy that hyperbol-eed about fifty time per minute. i Mean, sure yeah, he noticed it and all, he knew it must be kind of annoying to hear when he's speaking on the phone and he says all of a sudden "OH MY gOD, i JUST PULLED OUT FIFTY EYELASHES!!!" and the person on the other end, who was James by the way would go, "really? fifty Sven? You...(stutter for emphasis) you pulled out fifty eyelashes? fifty is a lot you know, are you sure it was like 3 or 4?" and Sven would go "Shut up, you know what i mean, it's like this habit, when you... shut up, i meant i just looked down and noticed there's a shit load of eyelashes right in front of me." Either way, Sven really didn't mind. In fact, he though it was kinda funny, in an abstract, unique sort of way and he liked to think that everyone that knew him closely -especially his good friend, who i'll tell you about, her name is carrot, well nickname, we'll call her carrot for now- liked it too. Besides, he loved himself, even if he though he was annoying, really in the grand scheme of things it didn't make all that much sense to try to change, if people didn't like it he was damn sure not going to do anything about it.

Sven...he was...bored when he started writing. It was mid morning, meaning around 9ish. And there was really nothing better to do. Like nothing. He though too much about everything to be honest. If he were a politician he would be a beurocrat (fuck i can't spell, i'd like to take the time now to apologize for anything the i have mispelled in this)(which i know is a lot because when i start to ramble i forget completely about all that fuck from society, fuck society, fuck government, fuck beurocrats, fukc..........

You know what i mean, either way...

Sven never really understood capitals. Like, who would capitalize their own name. You would have to be a complete moron to think your name warrants a capital letter. Only very few people's names warrant capital letters and a couple nicknames too, haha ohhhhhh Pea:). He doesn't believe in god so no capital on that either. That's that. He doesn't capitalize "i" when he writes. It actually got one of his stories rejected because they called it a grammatical error. "Grammatical error your face morons, i'm not going to capitalize my "i's" ever!" That's what he told his boss. His boss got angry but he's just a hot headed guy in general, Sven didn't have time for those kind of guys. Also Sven believed that "Sven" warrants a capital. Just because it's the coolest name of all time, that's why.

He got tired of writing sometimes. It wasn't like it was the only thing he was good at.

Besides, everyone gets tired of doing most things sometimes. And he had to go over to his friends house for dinner. It was like 5:30 and he had just got her call about three and a quarter minutes ago. So, naturally he was getting ready to go out. He got in the shower. This time though, he didn't sit down. Really he sat down very rarely, on special occasions you know, when he was absolutely exhausted, he had quite a big shower. He had had a crazy dream last night and it was actually one of the weirdest things. It was him and his highschool friends Andrew, Jeff, Simon and James and they were robbing random houses or some shit. It was the kind of dream that's so clear and justified on entirely false pretenses while you're in it but you don't realize that it actually makes no sense as soon as you wake up, or maybe five or ten minutes after. Of course though, that's what dreams are...they may be real sometimes, or at least real enough that you can relate them to your life but most of the time, they make very little, or no, sense at all. Sven had started writing a little thing called "Dream Man" about two months ago. i May have already told you about it. i Honestly have no idea. Lately, i've been having a writers block and I really can't think of anything at all that could help to convey my utter amazement of Sven. So, naturally, as any inexperienced writer would go ahead and do, i go on telling you of his stories, in hopes that maybe by accident i will run across one of the very things that makes him what he is. And in this case, i apparently have, because this friend that he was about to have dinner with was really quite a special friend, who, so he thought, actually did help make him what he is, who he is. That's how he felt anyway it was really a very nice feeling. Not that that matters right now as he's currently in the shower zoned out thinking of his dream. Jeff, Andrew, James, Simon and Sven were inside a house. It was a nice house. It didn't look all that big from the outside but inside it was surprisingly spacious. It was Sven's cousin's house. And they were robbing it, for reasons unknown to any of them. From the front door it was stairs, living room, kitchen, bedroom. There was a basement and an upstairs and they were there. Upstairs that is. So... there they were upstairs. And they were robbing away. All of a sudden Sven said "hey wait! Don't go in there. Those are my cousins rooms have some respect." You know how dreams are. Deep down all of them knew that they weren't going to steal anything. They weren't that kind of people. They were honest, so really i don't know why they were there. As i already said, dream very rarely have any significance over our lives. But either way, Sven was a dreamer. He loved every minute of it if you want to know.

"Fuck...that fucking tea tree shampoo!!!" When it gets in your eyes...its actually so dumb. Because a person like Sven really has no chance against a product like that... Stinging shampoo i mean. He puts it in his hair, rubs it around a bit, forgets about it as he drifts off into a distant daydream and eventually it'l run down his brow and into his eyes at which point he'll yell, most probably the above line. once again for emphasis...
"Fuck...that fucking tea tree shampoo!!!"

fucking tea tree shampoo indeed...

end part 2. part 3 not yet written. but of course it will come all in good time.

He woke late in the morning, or early in the afternoon if you prefer it that way, some people do, i find. Only because late in the morning sounds worse, it makes the person sound lazy. Put the word "early" in front of anything and someone thinks, wow, he has incentive... or she, for that matter but as it turns out in this case it is a he and no, he doesn't have incentive.

Maybe it was because he didn't find meaning in every word like most others. He didn't tag each word with emotions, namely, he though emotions were redundant. For him, it was anything but hear the voice that told other how one should act, reacte and impose on others. It wasn't because he was currently unemployed or he didnt "work" it was because he had a habit of alienating himself from ever single person that occasionally stumbled into his life. Don't get this wrong, he loved love, in every sense of the word, be it sentimentally, affinetly or just plainly, the way a child loves a pretty butterfly that lands on his finger.

More back to the point, he woke up, sniffled once, maybe twice, rubbed his nose with the backside of his hand, recoiled slightly from a pugnant smell that had entered the room. Lately there was a building in the process of being built, or "in construction" if you will, next door and the workers ate the most god awful smelling piles of shit that he had ever smelt. It was a somewhat curry-ish smell, combined with soy and a definate hint of pidegeon droppings, or so he thought. It wasn't just the normal kind of pidgeon droppings either, it was the kind that's so intensified in smell that the flies themselves vomit before they land. See that's really defining because flies usually vomit when they land, quite promptly really.

Either way he was just thinking of what an awful smell it was when he noticed something. His toaster was gone, it was a rather odd thing to experience. Normally one would think "where the fuck did my toaster go?" but our character, still not completely awake said alloud "Someone must have been hungry, poor chap".

It wasn't that he was british that he said "chap" in fact he was polish/dutch. It was because he had a nasty habit of watching saturday evening mysteries and today happened to be a sunday. He must have dreamt about the mystery because it was the very first thing that came to his mouth as he noticed the missing toaster.

Now, naturally one would go ahead and assume "what kind of retard has a toaster in the bedroom?" but i believe, quite strongly, really, that i am capable of convincing you that he is not a retard and that there is a perfectly logical explanation for this admittedly strange phenomenon. You see, Sven, that's his name by the way, he's had it since he was a kid, had a habit of eating toast each night before bed. It wasn't because he was hungry, it was because, so he though, it provolked dreams and Sven was really very much of a dreamer, if you're care to know.

So, Sven woke up, sniffled three times, I'm quite sure of that now, recoiled at the stench, then walked limpingly and half nakedly to his kitchen.

In his kitchen the first thing he noticed was the toaster. It stood out plainly against the vibrant green walls of his oven side. He shifter his position, putting more weight onto his left foot, it seemed to him his left foor was slightly better balanced than his right, which he found odd seeing as how he was right handed. He was just thinking "why the helllll would the toaster be out here" when a quick movement got caught in his left peripheral. Sven turned his head and was please, if not slightly surprised to see a girl standing behind him, or in front, i should say, seeing as how he turned instead of looking in the micro-wave reflection. If he had looked in the micro-wave reflection then the girl would have, of course, been behind him. The girl herself was really quite a beautifull girl, she had olive-ish sking with bright hazel eyes and a nice, firm, brown hairing. She stood -with her weight on her left foot also, so that they were really quite lopsided- in front of him in only her undergarments, which seemed to be a new looking pair, hinting that maybe she had just changed. Now, naturally, as any guy would, Sven wondered, "if she just changed, why didn't she actually dress herself?" (that was soon understood by the lipstick stains on his neck). The second though was the following "who is this sexy bitch and how did she come to be in my flat". He said the latter out loud... with a british accent.

The girl laughed and walked up, brushing her chest against him and gave him a flattering kiss, just on the lips.

Sven woke up, sniffled once, maybe twice, i can't be certain and sat up in his bed. He recoiled quickly as a smell wafted into the room, but he was used to it.

He walked slowly to his television, he wasn't tired and today happened to be a sunday. The final for the womens Australian Open was on, Ivanovic vs. Sharapova. "Ohhhhhh my god, they're so hot, fucking hottest final ever". He was just fantasizing about what an amazingly memorable event it would be if the two players just stripped and had sex instead of playing tennis -and getting rather hot under the collar- when the telephone rang.

It wasn't a pleasant ring, it was more of an annoying, whining sound that would make any given person want to die instantly upon hearing the sound. Sven didn't really mind it all that much, it usually just made him want to pick it up quicker, which apparently, people like. The trouble came when he was expecting a call from someone he didn't like and had to let it ring out. Like that old Malacey guy from Connecticut. god Sven hated him, he had this annoying voice that pretty much equaled the whining of the telephone ring. Honestly, when, if ever, he picked up a call fom Malacey it damn near ruined his entire life. The other two times he considered getting a new phone were when he was in the bath, and at night in bed. He even got in the habit of unplugging the phone line, but only on weekdays, he liked to sleep in on weekends and he didn't want to miss important calls, besides, the phone's right beside his bed. Incidentally, this was the first call of the day and it came at 11:37, a number Sven quite enjoyed reciting alloud.

Sven rushed to the phone, not a klutzy rush like you might have imagined from hearing this tiny bit about him, but and elegant, tasteful rush, practiced hundreds of times upon the arrival of, well, hundreds of phone calls. He picked up the phone as quickly as anyone could imagine picking up a phone.

"Hello?"
"Hello"
"Ummm, may i ask who's calling" He said this quickly, it almost sounded like he's got an accent, unfortunately, he doens't
"This is Kev"
"Oh, yeah, ummm hey man, what's going on?
"Well... what you got planned for tday?
"Oh, i'm actually gonna watch the, uh the, tennis final" If you were observing this conversation you might think it was a bit awkward but, in fact, no yeah, actually it was. Sven had recently told Kevin that he had nothing to do on weekends and here Kevin was trying to do something with him and Sven straight up rejected him.
As i said, Sven had a nasty habit of alienating himself a tad.
"Oh, well ok, if you change you mind just give me a call, you've got my cell right just gimme a call?"
"Why would i have you cell, you never even lent me your cell, i never even seen your cell"
"No man, you've got my number?"
"Oh, uh yeah, yeah i do, and yeah i'll do that"
"Aight man, peace"
"Have a nice day." Sven hung up the phone. As it turns out he didn't even have Kevs number, and he had no intention what-so-ever of calling him. And why the FUCK did he say "have a nice day", what kind of idiot says "have a nice day" when you could much more easily say "see ya". All these thoughts raced through Sven's mind when suddenly, the shifted the race slightly and they all fell off course.

See, Sven, although only 20, had a much more "adult" outlook on life. He realized that society had set nametags and stereotypes and prices and colors on everything, yet what he didnt understand was why? Why do jocks always act like jocks? Why do CEO's feel the need to control everything within arms reach, including shit that's not theirs like human life? Why do people pay top dollar for something that won't even look good in about two and a quarter years? Are colors even really existant?

The last of these thoughts was raised from his partial buddhist belief that nothing if physical and that life as we know it exists solely in our minds.

Sven wasn't religious, is any way what-so-ever, he didn't understand how people could spend their whole life believing in something, dedicating their lives for it, giving their lives for it, when there was absolutely zero proof that any of it even existed. In fact, there is proof against it. A well noted point raised by one of Svens good childhood/ adulthood friends who was like mad into science. Sven just liked thought provolking questions. Though provolking questions broaden the mind and, ultimately, seperate use from the stereotyped, which, Sven wanted to do quite badly.

Anyways, back to the point. Sven ate an apple. Not an orange, he didn't like oranges. Sven liked knowledge and that apple that adam ate in eden, that was pure knowledge... not that he was religious of course.

As he was eating his apple he heard a scream, not a pleasureful one, but a scream of surprise. He opened the door of his apartment and found himself face to back with a big chubby black guy. He closed the door. Just his neighbours boyfriend... again. His neighbour was hot, but she was much older than him, probably almost thirty, and she'd always drag these big, hulking guys into her apartment. i Swear, you could hear them going at it all night. Sally's really ht and Sven always tried to get her over for a drink. Once she agreed but then she realized at the last minute her aunt died or some shit, she had to call it off. Sven was stuck having a cold shower.

So here's Sven, sitting on his sofa, eating an apple and thinking about his sexy neighbour who was probably getting ploughed right now, waiting for the tennis match to start, ignoring Kevin's invitation...when he receives his next call.

The phone rings, an annoying ring if you'd like to know. Once again he finds himself wondering "when am i going to get a new phone?"

He does his little run over to the phone, picks it up and...

Sven woke up, he sniffled four times, i'm nearly positive and got in the shower. He was the kind of guy that had to have the water just a little bit too hot to tolerate standing up, but when you sit down the water has time to cool just enough before it reaches you and it's the perfect temperature. The sit down in the shower type, an odd type, yes, and looking at him you wouldn't guess that he sits down in showers. He never sings though. Once in a while you might hear him recite palindromes.

When he stepped out of the shower he felt a cool breeze on his scalp. Odd? Very! He didn't have a window in his bathroom, it can be expected in a smallish flat. He ran his fingers through his hair, only to realize that he forgot to rinse the shampoo out of it. He liked to use tea tree shampoo, his hairstylest recommended it to him and so he got it. He never understood hair cuts. "You go in, and you're supposed to develop this very deep bond with you stylest nowadays. All she's doing is cutting my hair and she's asking my what i'm doing after high school? i Mean, what the hell do you care what i'm doing after high school? She's like ten years older than me and shes telling me about her boyfriend she just dumped." Sven never really understood the purpose of small talk. There are two types of people: firstly, three are the people who can sit next to a friend on a bus and not say a word and still feel comfortable that they're friends. Then the other group, who feel the need to blather on about nothing of remote interest until ever single person in the facinity is soached to the bone in useless word vomit. Disgusting metaphor i know, but i found it quite suiting. However, Svens problem came not only from his inability to converse on a low meaning level but also his inability to differentiate between small talk and somebody actually trying to get to know him... You see, Sven had an awful habit of alienating himself without even realizing it.

Sven hopped back in the shower and i don't mean that litterally, some people take it litterally when you say "they hopped in" but do you actually believe someone would hop into a shower? They could seriously hurt themselves. Come on, think about it. OK now... So Sven brought his body quickly from outside to inside the shower and rinsed out the shampoo. Unfortunately, tea tree shampoo is the kind that when it gets in your eyes is stings like a mother fucker, that's what happened to Sven and he got pissed right the hell off. Started going on a rant about how shampoo manufacturers screw you at every possible situation that could potentially arise with the product

Over the span of one year Sven had grown more and more weary of corporate gimmicks, the leopard trap, the false advertising, you name it. But who the hell cares about what he learnt in economics. It's time we got back to the story. Because that really is the crux of this writing.

Sven woke up. Scratched his nose and though silently to himself "i'm a damn sexy demon". Maybe it was those 30 push ups he'd been cranking out every other thursday or maybe just the overall lack of fatty foods in his diet but his physique was turning more lean and strong every day, or so he thought, correctly if you must know. He got out of bed, took the toaster out from underneath it and took it into the kitchen. It was monday morning and because he was currently in the process of finding a new job, sorry, career, he had nothing much to do. He checked his message machine, he did every morning, it was utterly pointless seeing as how any given phone call would wake him up instantly and make him wish he were dead.

Sven had quit his job as an office supplies salesman only about 83 hours ago, i say about 83 because i'm not totally certain about that fact, it may well have been 82, or 79 or maybe even 90 but it can safely be said, he quit his job a couple days back. Office supplies sales is really one of the worst businesses to be in, it's quite depressing if you want to know the truth.

Sven wasn't the kind of guy who go depressed but when he found himself sniffing more glue than he was selling he figured he must have gone drastically wrong somewhere.

Promptly, he payed off his debts with his savings account and decided to restart.

Sven realized that the key to life is not so much being able to keep everything together forever and ever in a nice, tidy pile until you wither slowly away, but more to be able to recognize when you need to just say "you know what, fuck it! i Need out!" That's really a very deep and important event in one's life; the recognition, and Sven was lucky he realized it early enough that there was still time to eascape before society imposed on him it's ruthlessness. And believe me, you do not want to experience it's ruthlessness first hand... or second hand for that matter...

So, as i was saying, Sven quit his job, to restart. The problem was he was left empty headed. Absolutely no idea what to do. He had fucked it and now an entirely different "it" was fucking him.

He decided to watch the Australian Open, womens final. Which as you may already know, was the hottest event in the history of anything ever!

Now, i realize i have been narrating this in a highly analytical and somewhat philosophical nature but i wish to make it clear that although i did describe our character to the best of my ability, i did leave out some key points. Let them be known...

1. The girl in his dream is named Katya, he slept with her for about 2 weeks in mid October
2. It is now December
3. He is not depressed but he is very alone
4. People love him that he does not love back, at least not sentimentally
5. He has hazel eyes and dirty blonde hair
6. He is scared of the hourglass that is his life
7. A girl loves him but he does not know
8. He did, in fact, thouroughly enjoy the womens final

Sven woke up, put the revolver to his head, shot himself.

Sven woke up, heard a cat meow from the room upstairs fell back asleep.

Sven woke up, looked out the window, a sunny day.

Sven woke up, leaned over to Katya, kissed her, she smiled lovingly and he smiled back. There was no quilt cover.

Sven woke up, brushed his teeth and went to work. He took the sky train. He liked the ride, he found the speed exilerating. He arrived at his office, wrote a story, it began like this...

He woke late in the morning, or early in the afternoon if you prefer it that way, some people do, i find. Only because late in the morning sounds worse, it makes the person sound lazy. Put the word "early" in front of anything and someone thinks, wow, he has incentive... or she, for that matter but as it turns out in this case it is a he and no, he doesn't have incentive.

His name is Sven, a nice guy, really, but far too distant. He's a writer and he's very alone. You should meet him but i should warn you... he doesn't like small talk.

So here he was, at work, writing some shitty story about god knows what, actually you know what... maybe... if you're bright enough, i'm not sure, sorry, i won't judge if you're not.