12-19-2011, 07:05 AM
Waking from the Californian dream. If one could distil hangover and awkwardness
in a bottle that'd be waking up on Los Angeles after a night of heavy drinking...Welcome to California. The
land of constant sun, and just by the way an icy planet named Minor so it doesn't ruin the perfected image.
In the same line of thoughts welcome to the planet Los Angeles, the land of beaches, summer, sex and money.
Brilliance, now give a hug to your wife sleeping naked next to you...wait a second that's not your wife, not
again. A mysterious girl laying next to you and her identity is obscured behind a cloud of tequila shots, nice going
Hank. Even worse your hand seems to be locked underneath her, making the "escaping lover" tactic rather
useless, and where the hell would you run it's your flat anyway.
Rewind, who am I...thinking in metaphorically intoxicated prose. Name's Henry Nero, Hank for short. Born
on motherfrakking Manhattan. A journalist by profession. I've spend so much time sticking my nose in other
people's lives that it became insensitive to the stench of my own crapped self. And yet though I know my
own history, who am I, and more importantly who is this girl right next to me? Another so to be conquest to
help me forget my wife, always ending in the same awkward situation when the level of alcohol in her blood
is low enough so she can actually notice the ominous ring on my finger. But before that she will wake up
and kiss me, maybe smile if she's not feeling too hungover...Aaaaand here it is the movement I did not
want to see, the beauty waking up after the 100 years of sleep...
"Hey there..." the still "unnamed" girl said smiling and kissed Hank to his dismay.
"Ummh why hello there" mumbled Hank answering her kisses
And here it is, the one and only moment THE awkward moment, not knowing what to say or do.
"Uhh I'll go cook some breakfast"
"It's alright, Hank..."
Brilliant she knows my name and I don't.
"It's alright, as it was alright the last time" she continued softly pulling him closer
Last time? What frakking last time? God what the f...Wait, zoom in on her face, I know that face, yes of
course you know you tool, you slept with her last week, and the week before, probably even two weeks ago as well.
And suddenly the awkward moment turns into a long waking nightmare, a nightmare you are aware of but
yet you completely forget so it's a whole new ride every time you go through it. And you remember now,
you mind slowly comes to focus as you see her face in hazy-blue moments of bliss, her name comes about
as well Mariana. The mystery is solved but sadly it just digs your little hole deeper and deeper. And that's
what gives you away; the moment of self realisation, you get so absorbed in yourself that the surroundings
become colourless to you.
"For how long Hank? For how long are you going to get senselessly drunk and then call
me? Do you think I don't have feelings, I'm sort of a droid to be used and then thrown away."
she wasn't happy at all
"For as long as it takes...and as long as you keep answering my calls"
"You really don't have anything do you..." she said with her eyes wetting
How do you say to a girl that you don't feel anything for her? How do you tell her you really love your
wife and the only reason you've slept with her is that you with to drown your sorrow, your regret perhaps
even prove to yourself that you can still be attractive to women. What the frakk do you say Hank?...
The long answer: nothing at all, the short answer: nothing. Indeed there is nothing in the world that can
make the situation right. And silence as painful as it is, is indeed the "right" choice
"Well then..." she got up and angrily begun dressing up "...you can' pretty much erase my number, because sure as hell I will erase yours"
She was dressed now, heading for the door, ready for the that final punch line that kills you and makes you
want to chase her to the end of the world to prove her wrong.
"And I've had better sex in high-school too"
"Ouch that hurt, too bad you didn't evolve much from the high-school whore either"
Yeah that's right Hank, insult her. Insult her because you know she's right. Hurt another woman, another
conquest, believing that you are superior that they are just lowly creatures to be used and then thrown
away while in fact your whole life revolves around being liked by the same lowly creatures you so hastily
insult. Great job indeed.
Fast forward - light cigarette and inhale some fresh yet to be polluted air. It's early morning the
California Major is yet to rise above the well lit skyscrapers dotting the enormous city housing nearly 200 of
the 360 million populating the planet. The sad thing is this idyllic setting does not contribute to my mood at
all. Well done Hank, well-frakking-done. Turning 43 in 2 weeks and still not knowing what's going on around
me, craving for my wife's attention while trying to bone everything that moves. Great plan indeed. And
watching life just scroll away before my eyes just led to a simple conclusion. I've accomplished
nothing...nothing at all. Writing about other people's lives, too damned arrogant to let go of what I've lost
waking up at 43 and suddenly feeling incomplete. Something must change
![[Image: Untitled-4-1.jpg]](http://i1231.photobucket.com/albums/ee520/Hank-Nero/Untitled-4-1.jpg)
Time flies fast, faster than you wish, before you know it you are in a junk yard trying to buy yourself some
change, just as wrecked as you are, but a change nevertheless.
"Weeeelcome to Budawski's scrapyard what can I interest you in sir?"
"Something that flies, and keeps a consistent atmosphere"
"Indeed I have what you need, follow me! What do you think of this selection of excellent space fighters, only slightly rusty and banged! Perfect for your, I can tell!"
"Looks like a pile of crap to me, but keep on kissing my arse it's actually nice..."
As hard it is to believe the salesman remained silent
"That one" Hank pointed in the general direction of a wingless Sabre "The one without the wing, how much do you want for it?"
"That's an excellent choice sir! I'd say 1 500 000 Credits?"
Hank remained silent then took a step forward taking his glasses off
"Do I look like a hooker Budawski?"
"Why, no sir!"
"Then why are trying to frakk me like one? I'll give you 250 000 credits for that wingless piece of trash, and not a chip more!"
"Uh...ok, ok, here are the activation codes, you might wanna check the life support system before you take off though, I salvaged it from a battlefield and the pilot must have ejected since half the cockpit was gone, I put in a Dagger one, looked similar enough"
"Perfectly space worthy my arse...."
in a bottle that'd be waking up on Los Angeles after a night of heavy drinking...Welcome to California. The
land of constant sun, and just by the way an icy planet named Minor so it doesn't ruin the perfected image.
In the same line of thoughts welcome to the planet Los Angeles, the land of beaches, summer, sex and money.
Brilliance, now give a hug to your wife sleeping naked next to you...wait a second that's not your wife, not
again. A mysterious girl laying next to you and her identity is obscured behind a cloud of tequila shots, nice going
Hank. Even worse your hand seems to be locked underneath her, making the "escaping lover" tactic rather
useless, and where the hell would you run it's your flat anyway.
Rewind, who am I...thinking in metaphorically intoxicated prose. Name's Henry Nero, Hank for short. Born
on motherfrakking Manhattan. A journalist by profession. I've spend so much time sticking my nose in other
people's lives that it became insensitive to the stench of my own crapped self. And yet though I know my
own history, who am I, and more importantly who is this girl right next to me? Another so to be conquest to
help me forget my wife, always ending in the same awkward situation when the level of alcohol in her blood
is low enough so she can actually notice the ominous ring on my finger. But before that she will wake up
and kiss me, maybe smile if she's not feeling too hungover...Aaaaand here it is the movement I did not
want to see, the beauty waking up after the 100 years of sleep...
"Hey there..." the still "unnamed" girl said smiling and kissed Hank to his dismay.
"Ummh why hello there" mumbled Hank answering her kisses
And here it is, the one and only moment THE awkward moment, not knowing what to say or do.
"Uhh I'll go cook some breakfast"
"It's alright, Hank..."
Brilliant she knows my name and I don't.
"It's alright, as it was alright the last time" she continued softly pulling him closer
Last time? What frakking last time? God what the f...Wait, zoom in on her face, I know that face, yes of
course you know you tool, you slept with her last week, and the week before, probably even two weeks ago as well.
And suddenly the awkward moment turns into a long waking nightmare, a nightmare you are aware of but
yet you completely forget so it's a whole new ride every time you go through it. And you remember now,
you mind slowly comes to focus as you see her face in hazy-blue moments of bliss, her name comes about
as well Mariana. The mystery is solved but sadly it just digs your little hole deeper and deeper. And that's
what gives you away; the moment of self realisation, you get so absorbed in yourself that the surroundings
become colourless to you.
"For how long Hank? For how long are you going to get senselessly drunk and then call
me? Do you think I don't have feelings, I'm sort of a droid to be used and then thrown away."
she wasn't happy at all
"For as long as it takes...and as long as you keep answering my calls"
"You really don't have anything do you..." she said with her eyes wetting
How do you say to a girl that you don't feel anything for her? How do you tell her you really love your
wife and the only reason you've slept with her is that you with to drown your sorrow, your regret perhaps
even prove to yourself that you can still be attractive to women. What the frakk do you say Hank?...
The long answer: nothing at all, the short answer: nothing. Indeed there is nothing in the world that can
make the situation right. And silence as painful as it is, is indeed the "right" choice
"Well then..." she got up and angrily begun dressing up "...you can' pretty much erase my number, because sure as hell I will erase yours"
She was dressed now, heading for the door, ready for the that final punch line that kills you and makes you
want to chase her to the end of the world to prove her wrong.
"And I've had better sex in high-school too"
"Ouch that hurt, too bad you didn't evolve much from the high-school whore either"
Yeah that's right Hank, insult her. Insult her because you know she's right. Hurt another woman, another
conquest, believing that you are superior that they are just lowly creatures to be used and then thrown
away while in fact your whole life revolves around being liked by the same lowly creatures you so hastily
insult. Great job indeed.
Fast forward - light cigarette and inhale some fresh yet to be polluted air. It's early morning the
California Major is yet to rise above the well lit skyscrapers dotting the enormous city housing nearly 200 of
the 360 million populating the planet. The sad thing is this idyllic setting does not contribute to my mood at
all. Well done Hank, well-frakking-done. Turning 43 in 2 weeks and still not knowing what's going on around
me, craving for my wife's attention while trying to bone everything that moves. Great plan indeed. And
watching life just scroll away before my eyes just led to a simple conclusion. I've accomplished
nothing...nothing at all. Writing about other people's lives, too damned arrogant to let go of what I've lost
waking up at 43 and suddenly feeling incomplete. Something must change
Time flies fast, faster than you wish, before you know it you are in a junk yard trying to buy yourself some
change, just as wrecked as you are, but a change nevertheless.
"Weeeelcome to Budawski's scrapyard what can I interest you in sir?"
"Something that flies, and keeps a consistent atmosphere"
"Indeed I have what you need, follow me! What do you think of this selection of excellent space fighters, only slightly rusty and banged! Perfect for your, I can tell!"
"Looks like a pile of crap to me, but keep on kissing my arse it's actually nice..."
As hard it is to believe the salesman remained silent
"That one" Hank pointed in the general direction of a wingless Sabre "The one without the wing, how much do you want for it?"
"That's an excellent choice sir! I'd say 1 500 000 Credits?"
Hank remained silent then took a step forward taking his glasses off
"Do I look like a hooker Budawski?"
"Why, no sir!"
"Then why are trying to frakk me like one? I'll give you 250 000 credits for that wingless piece of trash, and not a chip more!"
"Uh...ok, ok, here are the activation codes, you might wanna check the life support system before you take off though, I salvaged it from a battlefield and the pilot must have ejected since half the cockpit was gone, I put in a Dagger one, looked similar enough"
"Perfectly space worthy my arse...."