It was Friday afternoon. The typical end-of-the-week time when people get ready to kill the stress and drown the voids in their soul with cheap tequila and BMW shots. Yes, another Friday afternoon to kill the time away and feel like we have become more than what our fathers said we would.
A day in which who you have grown to become doesn't really matter. As you carefully select the crowd you want to hang out with and the place that will serve as a background to your faceless selfies and to your faceless selves.
Goddamned Fridays, I hated them. I hated my friends. They lied, The were fake. But on Fridays I am ready to just get wasted. So I don't really care who I am with.
I am the one who puts together the parties. The one who organizes the binge. The one who calls and twits everyone not to miss the drowning.
The drowning, that's what I call our Fridays together. The drowning has been happening since I arrived in this city. Almost 9 years ago. That's quite a lot of drowning and pretend. But it's Friday and no one cares.
I am the master DJ, the king of the booze and the prince of self mutilation and black humor jokes. Like a Hollywood voice over, I always enjoyed saying what the others were thinking. Until last Friday, when I discovered one of them had been pretending to be my friend just to get close to me.
Just to see if my good life could rub off on her.
It felt like a knife carving its way into my heart. Like a check with insufficient funds. It hurt a lot.
"Hey",out of nowhere she said to me, "wanna go somewhere more private?", she asked.
"Sure", I replied, "I just need to go to the men's room. You piss the shit out of me."
Dick Pound
15.5.2015
