Neon Strip

"The world is insane man." "I know, it’s fucking Trump innit?" "Na, fuck Trump man. Have you noticed how women are going for really ugly guys?" "Oh yeah, that shit is real." "I mean look at that, what does she see in that guy?" "Shit, I know. And those clothes!" "Imagine taking that guy home to meet her parents, they must feel so disappointed. But it’s men’s own fault ya know." "How do you mean?" "Handsome men have been cheating on women and playing with their feelings for too long. Women got tired of it. Now they go for unattractive men with no sense of style because they’re safe. These guys feel so fucking happy to be with these girls they wouldn’t dream of fooling around." "That’s a good point." "The problem is that handsome guys that are actually sound got fucked in the process." "Guys like us." "Damn right. We never cheated and now we can’t even get one of those top level birds." "I cheated on Tracy." "Yeah, but she was a bitch, she was probably cheating on you as well." "What? You think so?" "It doesn’t matter man, we’re straying from the subject. My point is, right now it’s better to be an ugly guy that can’t dress himself than the opposite. The world is upside down." "Do you think people say the same thing about you and me when they see us with girls? That they wonder how they are with suckers like us." "Na man, are you kidding? We’re cool as fuck, look at us." "Yeah, we are." "Any girl would be lucky to have us." "Absolutely." "We’re handsome devils, we dress smart, we’re funny…" "You are quite funny." "I know man, girls always laugh at my jokes." "I laugh at your jokes too." "You do 'cause you know what good humour is." "That’s true." "Shiiiiit. Look at that guy holding her hand like he’s afraid of loosing her. Pathetic. "And that track suit…" "Don’t get me started." "Too late." "Yeah, this upsets me." "You know if you think about it, Trump has a really nice woman too." "Yeah, Melania’s hot, man." "And he’s a horrible guy!" "He is! In every single mother fucking way." "And no sense of style, no decorum." "That’s a good word." "And that fucking hair." "Ridiculous." "Fucking Trump." "Fuck that guy man."

"What are u thinking about?" "Pussay." "You seemed so thoughtfull I was actually wondering if you were having a deep thought." "To be fair the pussay I was thinking about is pretty deep." "And which one is this?" "Alex, the accountant." "Don’t think you told me about this one." "I met her on tinder, we’ve met a couple of times. How are things with you and Mia?" "Great, I can’t complain." "She looks like she enjoys a good rodeo too." "Don’t." "Come on, I can’t be the only one that shares!" "She’s my girlfriend, not just some girl i’m banging." "How’s her pussay?" "Fuck off. And stop saying pussay you sound like an idiot." "Well excusez moi for appreciating the beautay in a pussay." "I doubt you can tell them apart. " "Sure can. To be fair I think it would be easier to tell these girls apart by their pussy than their faces. Some of them look very similar to me." "With all these women you’re fucking, do you think you’ll recognise one that’s special?" "Of course. That’s what the wank test is for. " "Do explain." "So you know when you’re fantasising about some girl and you have a wank thinking about her? And then after you come you realise you just wanted to shag her, cause now that you climaxed you can’t really be bothered thinking about her anymore. Even the thought of having her there in your bed with you is annoying. Well, when you actually fancy a girl and after you come you would still love to have her there with you, that’s ‘cause you fancy that one. You clearly have feelings for her. And that’s the wank test. " "Is this a theory of yours?" "Yeah. But it’s based on purely scientifically evidence mate." "You might be onto something there." "The most honest moment a man has is right after he orgasms." "Is that a fact?" "Sure is. How do you do it? How did you realise you fancied Mia?" "I’m not sure. She just made me laugh I guess. " "Mate that’s nonsense, you gotta get your shit together." "You think?" "Of course, you’re gonna hurt someone like this." "Now you got me thinking." "It’s what I do mate."

“Stop being weird and just ask me out.” “You wanna go out with me?” “No.” That’s when I knew she was the one.

"So hows the dating app world going?" "Dude, it’s amazing! In just a week I had 17 girls liking me." "Do you like any of them?" "Are you kidding? I matched all of them!" "All 17 of them?" "Dude I’m so horny I’d fuck a squirrel if I could catch one." "Have you met any of these women yet?" "Not yet, I’m meeting one this friday." "Who is she?" "Sarah, 25, ioga instructor. A perfect body designed for sin and hand-made by god himself!" "Good for you man!" "Yeah, but I’m worried about that, I kinda lied a bit on my profile. I said I was a broker in Lehman Brothers." "Why the fuck d’you do that for?" "Because girls want someone that can provide for them!" "Who told you that?" "My dad." "Your dad? You’re taking women advice from your dad now? Your mom divorced him after what, 3 years?" "He’s had a lot of girlfriends since." "Mate, you told me he fucked his own cousin once!" "They weren’t all his cousins!" "Are you sure? I’m starting to think your mother was his cousin too, you turned out to be such a fucking retard. What are you gonna do when you meet this girl now?" "Keep lying I guess. It’s all good, I can pull it off. I’m even gonna show up well dressed like I just left work." "Do you even own a suit?" "My flatmate let me borrow his. And I got a briefcase from a second-hand shop." "What are you gonna put inside? Chloroform so you can kidnap this poor girl?" "It’s all good, I just need to lie until I bang her, it’s not like I wanna marry her." "I’ll tell you what, I’ll help you." "You will?" "Yeah mate, I’ll help you catch a squirrel."

“Writing is a lonely activity. The only time I feel lonelier is when i’m not writing.”

"What the fuck are your wearing?" "Why?" "Is it laundry day?" "What’s the problem?" "Look at what you’re wearing dude." "What’s wrong with it?" "I can’t tell if it’s a really expensive pyjama or a really cheap tracksuit. Is that suede?" "It was well expensive bro. Track suits are making a comeback you know?" "A comeback from where? The land of bad taste? I wish they'd stayed there." "A lot of influencers are wearing it." "And who are these pricks that are influencing you to wear that shit?" "You know influencers, fashionistas, people I follow on instagram." "Who the fuck are you?" "I was always interested in fashion." "And what happened to having your own style instead of doing what some pricks on social media say? Who are these people anyway?" "Just normal people with a lot of followers." "And they post pictures wearing different clothes?" "Yeah, really nice pics, in cool places wearing trendy clothes." "Maybe they get paid to use those clothes, have you considered that?" "They do get paid." "Are you fucking kidding me? So they’re just doing a job, getting paid by brands?" "Yeah, to a lot of them it’s a full time job." "And thanks to gullible people like you these people are thriving. It’s a stupid new world." "It’s how things work nowadays, a lot of people follow their suggestions. It’s why they’re called influencers." "Well they’re influencing me to jump out of a window right now." "You don’t understand how things work anymore." "Sure I do. A prick gets paid to wear a suede track suit on instagram and next day a thousand suckers, you included, are wearing one." "You just wanna see the world burn, bro." "Starting with that tracksuit. That shit looks flammable, is it?" "I don’t know, I hope not." "How much did you pay for it?" "I’m not gonna tell you." "Just tell me." "No. It doesn’t concern you." "Well if it doesn’t concern me, you can tell me." "You’re gonna say something stupid." "Come on, how much?" "Seventy five." "Seventy five quid?" "Yeah." "What a sucker." "Jesus , you’re such an arrogant asshole." "I am, but if I was getting paid to be one you’d call me an influencer."

"Are you up to much this weekend?" "I'm buying a pack of ciggies, a bottle of wine and improvise." "Sounds like you have everything planned already." "I didn't decide if I'm having red or white wine yet."

"Hi." "Hey there." "You waiting for someone?" "No." "You been standing there for a while." "I like this doorway." "You a friend of Mia’s? You’ve been staring at her window." "How do you know Mia?" "I live here, so I know everybody in this street." "Good for you." "Yeah but I don’t know you." "I’m Nic." "Marc." "Nice to meet you Marc. How old are you?" “Ten.” “Shouldn’t you be in school or something?” "We leave at four and you’re trying to change the subject. So why are you waiting for Mia? You mad at her?" "Why do you think I’m mad at her? Of course not." "So you ARE waiting for her, see. I tricked you there." "You’d make a good cop Marc." "No way, I’m gonna be a fireman." "That’s even cooler." "I know right? What do you do?” “I’m a journalist.” “Are you interviewing Mia? Is she in trouble?” “Not that I know of.” “Is that a recorder on your pocket?” "What?" "You keep that hand in your pocket. The only times I saw you take it out was to light your ciggies. So what you got there?" "My lighter." "Come on, don’t bullshit a bullshitter! Besides the lighter." "Where did you hear that? That’s from a movie isn’t it?" "Yeah, I heard Denzel say it." "That’s right, Denzel did say it! Good memory." "So what is it, a knife?" "Jesus Marc, you’ve got some imagination. I couldn’t fit a knife here if I wanted to." "'Course you could, 'if it was a switch blade." "You’re right, a switch blade would fit. But I don’t have one." "Is it one of those small guns?" "No, I don’t have a gun either." "So why are you here? You haven’t told me." "'That’s because it’s none of your business." "Well it is if you’re gonna be mean to Mia. She’s my friend you know?" "Oh is she?" "Yeah. You see that fruit shop? That’s my parents’ and we all like Mia and she’s really nice to us, so I don’t want her to get hurt." "She’s lucky to have a friend like you." "I know." "Don’t worry, I’d never hurt her." "You don’t look like the kind of guy that would hurt a woman." "Thanks." "But I had to ask anyway." "I understand." "So are you gonna stay here?" "Yeah, a bit more." "I should tell you that she’s out of town." "Are you sure?" "I heard her tell my dad yesterday. Something to do with work." "Shit. You could have told me earlier you know?" "Yeah, but I was trying to figure you out, innit?" "Smart guy. Well I’m leaving then. It was nice to meet you Marc, I’ll see you around." "Aren’t you gonna tell me what you got in your pocket?" "Here, I’ll show you." "Holy shit!” "So what do you think?” "I think she’ll like it.” "I hope you’re right.” “But I guess you gotta be ready in case she doesn’t.” “Well don’t jinx it.” “Just sayin’ dude. You gotta take it like a man, you know?” “And how’s that?” “I don’t know really. Say fuck it, be strong. “I’ll just come talk to you if she says no. Maybe you can cheer me up.” “Yeah I got your back.” “Thanks buddy.” “Unless you hurt her.” “You’ve made that pretty clear, Marc.”

I wonder if you realise that when we both lie here naked, time stops everywhere else. In the different shape of your eyes I see already that we are fated. It’s too late now, my core melts. When we part ways, life resumes. Now I moan in the afternoons under the worried gaze of a friend, Will I feel like this again? At the counter, I finish my drink I’ll have another one, my heart sinks I remember when I jumped in a pool Without water, what a fool. I never was afraid of fear, I'm just scared of not having her here. Like that day, in my bed, when night turned into dawn. But then I blinked, and she was gone.

I left home late one week night, and walked for a long time until I met her on a tourist-packed area, at such a late hour that only the night workers, the insomniacs, the dreamers and the freaks were out. She was waiting for me next to a lamp, smoking, and threw the cigarette butt out when she saw me cross the street. We spoke, drank and smoked, until the sky stopped being dark. When we were too tired we fell asleep, and when we woke up we had sex. Then we were quiet and just looked at each other. She left soon after that, and sometimes when I’m outside I think I see her face, but it’s never her when I look again. It hurts like a phantom limb, only I’m not missing anything. I passed by that street the other night, where I first met her. She wasn’t there, of course, but I could swear everyone else was the same. People were wandering about, working, plotting, making plans to change the world. A truck was spraying water on the road, and hundreds of cigarette butts made their way to the gutter and made the lights from the lamps and the buildings shine off the wet asphalt. It was kind of beautiful to see and I felt inspired. Life, even if decadent, was happening. Maybe I should write something, I thought. And then I went home.

If Lucy hadn’t been born, she would have to be invented. Her fascinating and magnetic personality, lead people to actually make up stories about how they had met her, when in reality they never had. She could effortlessly turn a small gathering into a party and create this vibrant dynamic in a room, where everyone felt not only that they belonged but also that they were an important part of the event. Lucy glued us all together, despite our background, race, class or religion, creating this melting pot of pluralism where creativity, tolerance, love and respect were the concocted potion that everyone present savoured and never forgot. And it always left an enduring sweet taste in your mouth. She played three instruments, spoke five languages and was a skilful dancer and photographer. I have no clue where she found the time to do all these things, but then again, she seemed to never sleep. Sometimes after a party, we’d crash at the house of whoever was hosting, and I’d fall asleep before her, only to wake up a few hours later to the noise of her voice or laughter, playing the guitar or cooking breakfast for the rest of us, already in full throttle mode. Her eyes saw the singular part of everyone, her special talent being her ability to find something remarkable in each person she met. Many of us guys - and also several women - tried to get on with her, but very few did. She belonged to no one. A free spirit if there ever was one, a pleasure-driven creature, Lucy flew at high speed through life, leaving the rest of us - even the ones on the fast lane - way behind. She drank so much tequila that we used to joke it ran in her veins; We came to describe certain chapters of our lives with amusing nicknames that would relate to the drugs we used at a certain time. in the early 80s we all went through a Cocaine Diet, in the end of that decade and beginning of the 90s we were the Raging Ravers. It seemed like most of us wanted to do nothing but dance, dance, dance. To this day my memories of those days - mostly nights, really - are shaky with colourful light trails and trembling faces climaxing. We had ecstasy to help us, of course. How else could one dance for seven straight hours? Finally, on the late 90s some of us let Lucy convince us to volunteer in a clinic that was conducting a study about psychedelics. Those were the Magic Carpet Ride days. Cigarettes and alcohol, it goes without saying, were a constant throughout the whole thing. Eventually Lucy embarked on a trip of her own when she started taking heroin, and it was such a bleak phase in her life we didn’t dare coming up with a name for it. We just wanted that chapter to be over and our friend back to us unarmed. After almost two dark years, several interventions and a few stays at rehab facilities, Lucy finally stopped using. She slowly returned to her old self, and made some of her best work on the years right after that period. She was putting on weight again and it seemed she was recovering well both mentally and physically, until one day she fell sick, during an opening of one of her exhibitions. What a lot of us suspected was confirmed at the hospital hours later. The heroin use had left something that lasted a lot longer than all the highs it ever gave Lucy. She was diagnosed with AIDS, and from the night she fell, until her last breath, not three months went by. It came too soon, but I guess with her it would always be too soon, no matter when it happened. In many ways it was like saying goodbye to a child, full of potential and with a promising life ahead. She was eternally young, even though we were the same age and I was definitely not young anymore. I still have the newspaper cut from when she died. The headline reads "Photographer Lucy S. Diamond dies", condensing my friend’s life into a five-word-title and a 300-word pale article on page seven. You couldn’t possibly describe one hour of her life in 300 words, and surely couldn’t describe her whole life in 300 hours. I was glad to know someone was finally writing a book about her, and I was happy to contribute with stories and anecdotes, quotations and insight into my friend’s life. On my last conversation with the author, a friend Lucy and I had in common, he asked me what were her last words. I described to him how some of Lucy’s close friends, and also her brother and sister, gathered in her house on those last days, but on the moment she passed away I was the only one in the room. I had been reading Howl to her, which was her favourite poetry book, putting all my heart into declaiming it just the way she liked it, and every once in a while she would smile and touch her hands slowly and gently over her tummy, where they were laying, which was as close as she could come to clapping by then. I asked her if she wanted some water and she said no. "I think it’s time." I held her hand and felt my face warm when tears started streaming down. "I’m here honey, do you want me to call anyone?" She shook her head. "You and I always stayed until the parties were over." I smiled, trying to hold back my tears. "Yes we did sweetie. And then I’d fell asleep and you’d keep partying." "Not this time baby." she said. Crying uncontrollably I kissed her face, her lips, her hands. I didn’t know what to say except tell her how much I loved her. "I love you. I love you so much." She squeezed my hands. "I love you too hun.This time I fall asleep first and you keep partying for me, ok? I’m just too fucking tired." I couldn’t speak anymore, I could barely see from all the crying. I was finally able to mutter: "Ok. I’m here Lucy." Sitting on a chair next to Lucy's bed, I held her hands in mine and watched as she smiled one last time. Through her skinny neck I could see her carotid artery moving to the beat of Lucy’s heart. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. She closed her eyes gently, that beautiful emerald green disappearing forever behind her eyelids. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. I squeezed her hands tighter and I think she squeezed mine too. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. And then it stopped.

"Can I have a ciggie?" "Do me a favor, kill that fucking spider for me, will you?" "Must I kill it? Can't I just put it outside?" "On the door mat like you usually do? So that bitch can come back in as soon as you turn your back?" "It's just a spider man." "Well I hate spiders." "Why? I mean, they can't kill you." "Yes they can." "Not here, this ain't Australia." "Can I still not like them? Aren't you afraid of anything?" "Of heights I guess. But that makes sense, I mean, I will die if I fall from a high place." "Alright Mr. Logic, just do me a favor and kill the fucking spi...WHERE DID IT GO?" "Oh shit, it's gone." "You idiot, now we'll never find it!" "It was just a small spider anyway. Where you goin'?" "To my room, and I'm locking myself in." "Oh god, the drama. So can I have that ciggie or wha..." "You can go fuck yourself."

"So tell me about this girl you’ve been seeing." "She’s a tattoo artist." "That’s cool. She any good?" "Oh yeah, she’s fucking talented." "I meant in bed." "Oh…hell yeah, she’s fucking talented." "I’m kidding, I did mean as a tattoo artist." "I know." "I’ve been thinking about getting a tattoo, you think she’d do it?" "Of course, what were you thinking of doing?" "Don quixote." "Donkey what?" "Don Quixote! He's a character from a book." "Oh…why do you want a tattoo of him?" "I just like the story I guess." "Tell me." "He was a crazy old man, thought he was a knight. One day he just went looking for adventures." "Did he find any?" "He found some." "I don’t know if she’ll know who that is though." "A lot of people know about Don Quixote." "I didn’t." "You should read a book sometime." "Can’t be bothered. Why don’t you get something else? Something easier to do." "I was always fascinated with Sitting Bull." "A sitting bull? Why the fuck?" "Mate, you really need to read a fucking book. Sitting Bull was a native american leader." "Oh…what happened to him?" "They killed him." "Who?" "The americans." "Cunts." "I know."

He dropped the oars into the water and watched as they floated away. The wind from the east was getting stronger, emphasising the rise and fall of the waves, and only some times could the man still see Havana, nothing but a glow on the horizon at this point. He opened the bottle of rum and had some, then lighted his cigar. There was a hell of a storm coming. Nothing comparable to the one wreaking havoc in his heart, though. He thought of Ahab and his fixation with the whale; then he thought there was no Ishmael there to tell the story, and no one would ever know how he went to sea to drown his obsession, to make sure it stayed at the bottom of the ocean.

Bump Razor-sharp feeling cuts my brain in half Noiiiiiiice! I need a cigarrete now Yeah, some wine too. Love that song, who’s playing? Never heard of them, see if you like this No? Fuck it, you choose then. Bump You guys speak too fast, I can’t keep up Innit? Did I tell you about my idea for a script? It seemed better before I said it out loud I’ll still try to write it though Someday. Another one already? Take it eeeaasy! Bump Ciggie? God, I wish these weren’t bad for you I’d smoke two at a time. Have some more wine, I told you we should have bought another bottle Hahahaha, you guys make me so high I might be addicted to you, just saying. Bump Can’t believe it’s over Where’s my lighter? The sky is so blue already Can I crash here? Will take some time to fall asleep now A joint would be nice, yes Shit, my head is really confused now I wish I could play the guitar, or the harmonica But I’d make a great drummer, no doubt. I got rhythm, see? Ohh, I love this couch. Good night, even though it’s morning No, I don’t want to watch fucking Friends. But a cup ‘o’ tea would be nice. Milk, one sugar. Cheers. So good. Always thought this milk in the tea thing was bullshit Proper good. Can I say that? Hey, you awake? Oi! Unbelievable.