Sunday, 16 December 2012

A Chicago evening

A big city, thousands of lonely unfortunates sniffling in the rain, their shoes dragging on the concrete. A child falls down and makes the fall a somersault. My boots go click click click and my cigarette leaves a trail of smoky anticipation. A man glances at me, his eyes taking in my red lipstick and tired bleary eyes. I kiss the filter longingly, fatigue...I hope my print of Man Ray does not get wet in this silly Chicago rain.

B and S walk ahead, their coupling makes me wistful, here I am holding petite and two dimensional Nancy Cunard in my arms. Why is it always creepingly cold in Chicago? I trip on the debris of some homeless man. I have to go back home but not study Sanskrit tonight. I am too ill to drink. I puff tiredly on the cigarette.

I fancy something more exciting, it seems like the fun seeped out of me when I left Oxford and the spires of eternal loneliness. There's a repulsive charm to solitude, but this rule does not hold in Chicago. I miss the boy, and his snickering self assurance. I miss something else, but I don't know what. It keeps raining, and a man plays the drums on Michigan Avenue. S dances on the pavement, a strange flexible and funny jig, his red hair rendered clammy and cold by the December rain. B smiles at him, he is in love, it is the smile of love that  B gives. B is my lovely Viking in love, my little Ohio Viking.

Somewhere during the afternoon of Grecian urns and high Impressionism, my lipstick rubbed off, my eyeliner disappeared. B and S and their friend proceed to a bluesy night. But could I go through a night of aching blues?
All that was left of the evening was a persistent gnawing feeling in the stomach.

I had a burrito and came home.

3 comments:

Strawberry Amma said...

This piece of writing is sexy, Ahona!

Strawberry Amma said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
little boxes said...

pictures like a photograph.
out of focus in bits because of the vapour on the lens, blurry because of the clumsy hands that shiver in the cold while trying to balance the shutter and the limp cigarette,
take care, beshi mawd kheyo na.