I knew a windy, rainy evening last night. An onslaught, a downpour, a torrid flood of water and breeze that assailed me as I walked, lonely through the slick streets, drunkies weaving to and fro on the immobile sidewalks, shouting their guppy's greetings and mating calls to equally addle-brained baboons, beer reeking, reeking everywhere, in the road, in the clothes, in the doorways, in the nostrils...
It was as if it were raining not clear, clean water, but a tawny, gold urine, odious to the smell, nastier still to the taste. God pisses on us. Good title for a counterculture novel. Opposing what, I don't know. University life murdered meaningful social insurrection in the '60s and it never has been recalled to life.
Not that the good Doctor Manette should be lucky enough to win the Get of Jail free card, mind you. Many consider me a manette, man in the body, -ette in the mind. But what of my spirit? Ah, my own concern, I suppose, if you ignore the book-clutching Mormons with their giant flip cards and discount store suits that infest and warm about every decent-sized campus.
I haven't yet been able to figure out just what exactly is going on between Nick and Melody. Nick's normally so full of himself, bragging of the disgusting barflies and slutty freshwomen drunks, refuses to talk about her. Has he finally failed?
Is there at last a woman who wouldn't give it up to him?
I do hope so. I get sick of it sometimes, the way everyone is Nick this and Nick that. Nick Nick Nick! What about me?
Don't I mean something?
Or I am just the guy for answers?
Mid-terms and finals times are the seasons in which they line the hallways and approach my door.
Every other day and every other hour?
Silence. Not even a nearby whorl of air can be convinced to stir by my door.
And that reminds me of another season.... and the only girl who has ever shown me something close to love.
The only one I could feel something for in return, that is.
But the sun is zenithed and I have things I must do before night falls.