HUMAN DECENCY

I do not trust people I do not know. I do not fall in love after the first fuck. I don't really attach myself to razor blades these days. Drown in your own self pity and your self inflicted shit for all I care. Really. I don't. I am another statistic. I am one of those who will casually walk on by while you lay dead in the street decaying, and I will be gawking at you from the corner of my eye, but you do not deserve the dignity of a full stare.

I awoke in my bed around 2 in the afternoon... the sun beating down on me, I was sweating and my head was throbbing. My mouth so dry, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.

Empty beer cans and used condoms. A pair of leopard print thong panties. I smirked. I love it when these decent whores leave me a trophy to flaunt to my audience.

I made my way to the kitchen and drank three glasses of water. Then, I took a cold shower. Got dressed and greeted the world with my head down and squinted eyes.

Hang overs and hot days do not mix. I had no idea where I was going this day. No great plans. Maybe find some shade down by the river. Maybe call this sweet beast that worked me last night and see if she was up for a round two, three, and four. No... it was too soon.

My cock was rubbed raw and my muscles were stiff from the work out. Plus I think I pulled a condom off and blew inside of her. Why do I flirt with these things? It felt like the thing to do at the time I suppose.

There was an old Mexican man, about 75 years old, crippled, who lived down the street from me. He sat out side of his apartment in his wheel chair all day every day. Every time I walked by I could feel his stare burning the side of my face but I always avoided eye contact with him. He lived with four younger Mexican men, and a middle aged woman... they seemed like quite the rowdy bunch, and I had heard rumors around the neighborhood that if I needed cocaine, I should go to them. I suspected that this old man was sick, and that he was not well taken care of.

I shuffled along his place only I noticed something very different. He was up on these two canes, making a mad dash from his wheel chair, to the vehicle parked in front of his apartment.

He staggered and struggled, then eventually lost his balance and fell face first into the street. He split his head open. He squirmed and cried to me something in Spanish.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" I yelled and I rushed to his aide.

He was a heavy fellow, but I picked him up over my shoulder and carried him back to his wheel chair.

Two police officers who were near by came over and asked me what was going on.

"I don't know..." I said. "I was just walking by and this guy fell."

They called an ambulance. They thanked me for assisting. "What was I supposed to do?" I asked. "Just leave him there?"

"Well... that's what most people would have done." The cop said. "Thank you again sir."

And for the first time in my life... I actually had a brief respect for the police.

I wandered around town... a little bit in shock... with this old mans blood smeared on my shirt. I did not pay attention to the awkward stares that came my way.

A couple days later, he was sitting out front, as usual with a bandage around his head. This time, I made eye contact with him. He raised his hand and nodded to me as if to say thank you. I waved back. He was trying to escape this hell. He was going to get in that car, crippled or not and go away. Even if it meant driving head on into a semi, or off of a cliff.

I felt cold. I contemplated getting a bottle of tequila and kidnapping this old man to Las Vegas. There, I will pump him full of booze and set him up with a hooker from off the strip. One final hoorah before the leaches put him to sleep like a dog. One last laugh and spurt of life.

Two weeks later I was in the neighborhood bar with some friends, taking shots and mocking the people with missing teeth.

I told my friend about the incident with the old man, and my plans to kidnap him to Vegas.

My friend turned quiet and said...

"You didn't hear what happened?"

"No... what?" I asked.

"Dude, he died two days ago."

I stopped talking.

I guess I do fall in love after the first fuck.

And that is my opinion on human decency.

YOU ARE NOTHING SPECIAL

We are all decaying at the same rate, yet I see it all the time.

Pretentious artists and self proclaimed poets sounding off their trumpets off of a mere fraction of recognition.

And do not get me wrong. My ego flares from time to time most often when I am allowed to express to the reader... the other talents I can do with this pencil.

are you fucking me because I am a good writer or are you fucking me because I just might out live you?


SAVE IT.

This is a worthless emotion, along with jealousy and hatred.

YOU ARE NOTHING SPECIAL.

always remember that and you will always be two steps ahead of the leaches.

we are just maggots feeding on the same corpse.

we are all going to be put to sleep one day... and talked about in nothing else but rumors.

Your head is swollen.

You are disgusting.

Get away from me... you smell just a little bit funny.