friday nights

Untimely. The form his anger takes is red colored. There is something missing about a green yard and three thousand dogs running in circles and barking like mines on a battlefield. He thinks about it, laughs. Definitely not a battlefield. They aren’t that big. It’s doesn’t run that deep. He doesn’t deserve a lot of things. He doesn’t deserve a smile. No smiles. He doesn’t deserve a job, or a roof over his head. His inner monologue is as ironic as his bank account number.

Perhaps it’s not that he’s angry. He’s sad, if anything. There isn’t a realization to be acted on, but he lingers. Longer than he’d like to admit.

Christian is-

He distances himself from the main road, trades the bright parts of Hongdae for the tiny junctions of closed nightclubs and the vestiges of empty shop windows. He shrugs the cold off and chews his nails. It’s warm outside. The real feat of big cities, he thinks, is that no one cares that much. It’s a blanket statement, that the isolation of the countryside is worse than that of the individual. It’s a mess, inside his head. He detests late evenings.  He will go home. He will get on a bus and maybe return to Busan. Seoul is no good. It’s no good at all. He still has about 5 g of weed bagged. This isn’t what he had planned for his future, but it helps pay the bills. He can’t say that about his job at the PC bang. 

The pink, washed out neon light of stores that don’t cater to any clientele hangs over his hand like a death sentence. Like gun aim. Like the mismatched rectangles of untimely hatred. There it is, he’s doing it again. All these words and the meaning is lost. He really needs to work on that. He passes by familiar faces of which none greet him. A pretty face is worth nothing in this world. This world. A note here: Elaborate. He goes deeper, (deeper), and anger settles. Again. A bit repetitive, are we getting old? 

IN THE INTEREST OF ACCURACY, DON’T TRUST THE NARRATOR.  (I remember the day the poor lonesome coydog got a broken heart when it went and fell in love with animals not quite its kind. )