“You have to be a proper human! Not just some kind of smart and crafty animal.” An old hobo pokes at his leather jacket. “All instinct and raw character with no manners.” Oz gives the old man the eyebrow. He has to decide whether he is amused or irritated. Maybe both, maybe equally.

The man belonging to the dry bony pocking finger blabbers his words mixed with jibberish. Or is that a language? The eyebrow shoots up again. Was that something mainland European?

“You know how a proper human looks like lad?” The old man laughs and attempts to stand up. His hands shoot forward to grab the counter. It seems to be moving for him. “Not like this…” He concludes more to himself. “Still not drunk enough. There’s still hope in me. It keeps seeping into me, through the cracks of the night and day. Suddenly it’s all back from nowhere…” He slams his palm unto the polished wood. “Dammit! You hear that, lad?”

Oz gets his rum, and is about to drink.”What do you mean? The music?”

“I only hear one song.” The club goes mad behind the hobo, the mass on the dance floor twitches and screams to a new song. He points at his heart and then between his brows. “It is here, all the time. Nothing else. It tugs and pulls…” The rhythm pushes on, vibrates through limbs and guts. Oz’s eyes find a beautiful lady in a black dress in the crowd enjoying herself. Then they come running back to the drunk old man. “Alien melody, boiling my blood. Already heard once before, can’t remember where.” He looks at himself in the mirror of the bar, smirks. “I could go anytime, I know that. I don’t have to be alive, but what can I do? Not rushing things. Stepping back in line.” The monologue turns even more into an irritating and awkward angle. The hobo strokes his left lower arm.

“My mother used to say: all roots dig into the black, the dirt.” He sighs and looks at Oz pondering. “So do I. Betray and get betrayed. You know what I mean, lad?” His eyes plunge down the bottleneck, preparing to drown in there. “Heh, flush the guilt with this.” He drains his beer and waves it to the bartender, who nods and places a new full bottle before him.

One thought on “trash snippets # 2

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