I’m a Wine guy. I always have been. Except for the time when I was a Rum guy. Strong, brave, cold-hearted Rum guy. A double on the rocks. Soda is for the faint-hearted has-beens!
Sometimes, I would lie down naked on the rooftop at night time with a bottle of Rum in one hand, a cigarette in another, and curse the Gods, provoking them to hit me down with all their wrath and anger. They never did, though.
All I could ever do was confuse a couple of street Dogs who would just stare at me curiously. A couple more joined in after a few days. The word traveled fast amongst the Dogs. Soon, a dozen chimed in. It was like a watch-party for them. I was their primary source of entertainment. ‘ The naked human having a spectacular breakdown at night.’ It was glorious, I presume.
The Cats didn’t care though. They always look like they are on an eternal quest to seek answers to the most complicated questions of the universe. They don’t care about the mundane stuff like a naked guy dancing and screaming on the rooftop. Maybe, they should learn to chill.
But then again, they are probably the ones holding this universe together with their deep and dark spells of old. I have heard the murmurs. I’m pretty sure that’s the case too.
But, anyway, I’m not a Rum guy anymore. I’m a Wine guy now. A Sophisticated, blue-collared, tightly clenched, leather jacket, sunglasses in the night, Wine guy.
I would rather spend half of my salary on a bunch of expensive clothes and a million hair and skincare products only to get punched in the face by a punk on the sidewalk. ‘I’m calling the cops’ I would mutter through my makeup-melted, tear-covered face only to get punched to oblivion. That’s how I fall asleep. Pills are for the faint-hearted has-beens!
I don’t think the Dogs care about this side of me, though. The watch party doesn’t arrive anymore. They would rather take turns pissing on me. It ain’t glorious. The moisturizers help, though.
Gone are those days when I was a Rum guy. They were good times, crazy memories, terrified neighbors, undiagnosed hypothermia, the primary character in the best-selling novels amongst Dogs, aptly title ‘Bow Bow’ for which I received no money, by the way.
I did receive a frisbee after a few months, though. I didn’t like it, threw it away in the night, found it back in my hands when I woke up the next morning. It happens quite regularly too.
Sometimes I feel the watch party is still lurking in the dark, waiting for me to fall back into the old habits, possibly hoping for a sequel to the critically acclaimed ‘Bow Bow’ amongst the Dog community.
I’m not a Rum guy anymore. But, them Dogs don’t seem to care. They are pushing me, driving me, provoking me slowly, patiently, tactically. I’m not a Rum guy anymore, but one of these days, who knows, I just might give in!