19.

I leave Mr. Satin Jacket and step outside. The light stings my eyes as if a godly dentist just shoved the bright hanging fluorescent sun down in my face. I've got a decent buzz going on and I feel calm again. My emotions swing back and forth just like a pendulum. Anger, calm, angst, fear, shame, pride. Back and forth consistently. These swings come regularly just on schedule, just like clockwork. I'm obviously losing my fucking mind. I wish my buzz was heavier. I'm afraid all this deep thought is gonna kill mine and I consider heading back to that trashy hole in the wall. The need for shelter takes precedence however. I need a payphone and more change since that damned computer ate up all my quarters. Now a quarter for what? Ten, fifteen minutes on the phone? That is a solid deal. I remember there's a gas station on Brooklyn and 47th so I wander over that way. I stroll in and I'm immediately greeted with a frown. I'm sure the cashier thinks I'm nothing but another bum. I walk up to the counter set my bag down and I pull out some filthy bills. I think about all the coke and cum and dirt and blood and hope and pride and death and fear these bills have been a party to. I count out four bucks and throw it down on the counter. I look straight into the cashier's eyes and let the booze fill me with mean pride, "Some ones for some quarters". No shame here buddy, I'm all business. I can see the cogs move slowly in his brain, another machine man just parts dictating emotion. I know he just wishes his shift was over so he could go home and the last thing he wants is some insane bum to be in his store heckling him. He swallows before he speaks and sweat forms along his receding hair line. "I can only give out change to paying customers", he squeaks. I eyeball him with discontent and my eyes drift on over to the cheap booze.