I went outside this morning and the sky said to me, “fuck you, asshole.” I pretended like I didn’t hear for a few seconds, but then I spit on the ground and slowly looked up.
“Fuck you too.”
I got in my car, closed my door, and closed my sunroof shade. Don’t you spy on me, sky. I put my key in the ignition and turned it, but nothing happened. Not even a sputter. On the little display between the speedometer and tachometer, a message slowly appeared. It said, “fuck you, asshole.” I got out of the car. I walked to the other side of the street. I tossed my keys into the storm drain.
“Fuck you too.”
I got my bicycle out of my house and set it on my porch. I pressed my thumbs on the tires to check the pressure. Stiff. I brushed the dust off the saddle. I checked to see if the chain was still oiled. All’s good. I carried it down the stairs and over the curb and onto the street. I hopped on and started pedaling. It was a bit squeaky, though. It’s been sitting for a while. But suddenly the squeaks started to sound eerily human. Like a child’s voice. Angry, though. “Feeeuuuckkk ewwwwwwuuuu, ashhhhhoooeeee.” Then the front wheel came loose and rolled under the bike. I fell.
“Fuck you too.”
I got up. Just going to walk from here, I thought. I made it a block or so, and then the pedestrian traffic started to get a bit dense. I had to weave in and out of people as they walked in the opposite direction. Some huge, lanky twerp bumped into me. I excused myself, but I could hear him under his breath: “fuck you, asshole.” I was too pathetic to say anything back.
“Fuck you too.”
I made it to work, but for some reason the front door to the building was locked. I tried pressing the button on the intercom box, but nobody answered. Usually there’s a guard there who will buzz you in if you tell him what company you work for. I lit a cigarette in the hope that the guard was just in the bathroom or something. Nope. I heard a fizzle and a hiss and then a voice came from the box. It asked, “what the hell do you want?” I told the box who I worked for and even gave it my manager’s name. Apparently that wasn’t good enough. “Fuck you, asshole,” it crackled. I sighed.
“Fuck you too.”
So I decided to just take the day off. I could explain the whole situation later. For now, I’m just going to go to the city park. Somewhere peaceful, but populated. Somewhere not totally removed from society, but not a bustling hub of activity either. Calm, relaxing, peaceful. Especially in the midst of all that’s going on around me. I got there, and found a bench in the shade. I sat down, and looked down and to my left. The words “fuck you, asshole” were etched onto the bench. I scooted over to cover them up with my ass.
“Fuck you too.”
Well. You know what, world? You know what? I can’t take any more of your shit. I can’t handle this fucking trip you send me out on day after day. I can’t sit back and relax while you go on with your shit. You have a sick sense of humor. You’re a mean one. Really cruel. I’m a person, dammit. Respect me. Respect me, goddammit. Give me a break every once in a while. Do something nice for me. It’ll come back around, I swear. I’m pleading at this point. Sorry I got mad earlier. I’m just trying to make it all work. I’m just trying to be happy. I just want to be happy.
I opened a book later that night. I don’t remember which one, it was on the top of a whole pile on my desk. I opened to a random page. I just wanted to be distracted. I just wanted to get into the middle of a story and try to figure out the beginning for myself. Good brain exercise. It read:
Great advice.
ATR
