One Pissed Call

I was all alone tonight. Just the cats keeping company on this summer day. One of the last hot days of the year. I worked out in the morning, had a full-on protein brunch, and went to work. I had one meeting today. I was feeling all depressed for not having a full schedule. But it was the same every summer. It didn't matter; I could never get used to not being productive. It made me feel sad, desperate, and in pain. Not real pain, but I could agonise, especially during the hot days of summer.

I had plans for today. I wanted to go and buy dish detergent. I had a pile of dishes from last night. And I didn't want to show anyone my inability to handle my own household. Appearance was all I was, not in the superfluous way, but in the sense of the word. I had to look good even if it wasn't true. Looks are deceitful, and that has nothing to do with other sins. I had to keep my Christian upbringing as a moral compass, not to stray away from the light. I just wanted to be in the spotlight.

And when choosing the right song to fall asleep, I was having trouble connecting to my main channel of creativity. 

I had so many plans for after my scheduled meeting, but then human nature hit. I wanted to pee. And I didn't want to be in the situation where I had to strain my organs just because I had to go buy dishwashing soap.

So I hopped on the tram and went home. I had to pee really badly; I didn't even think of pissing on a bush in a green area on the way home. How could I, when it's such a nice day, full of sunshine, and before the start of the new school year, everyone is outside.

On the ride home, my best friend texted me on WhatsApp. He wanted to talk to me, and I reassured him I would video call him when I got home. The urine result of breakfast and of that beautiful sunny day kept reminding me that I had to release it any minute now. I had once let the feeling loose during a traffic jam while my mother was at the wheel, and it was nothing I wanted to repeat. And certainly not in front of strangers, going home after a busy day in the office.

I got home. My friend was already calling me on the video app. I answered and we talked. He had to tell me everything new in his tormented life. I listened. I nodded and I said: " I know". As I continued walking home for the tram stop, I couldn't care less if people would hear his problems. It's not as if they would have to understand every single word he was muttering. His problems were mine to hear and no one else.

I walked and walked. And finally, I turned right and I was on my street. I walked as fast as I could. And I was trained to walk fast. I had been walking to get in shape since February, and brisk walking was child's play for me.

When I finally got to my address, I took my keys out and proceeded to open the door. C~limbed two flights of stairs and faced my apartment door. I drew the key out and stuck it in the keyhole. I jerked it and opened the door. My friend was telling all about butter biscuits from an American chain store that had the best products. I thought of RFK and told him American food is poison. He nodded and said he knew but was lonely. I agreed and empathised with him.

Once I was in my flat, I closed the door behind me and turned the second lock. I always did, in a false sense of security type of way. If anyone is going to break in, they will break in, and another shitty lock on the door will not prevent them from doing it. But I liked the idea of feeling safe by turning a lock once i was inside. 

I rushed to the toilet. Opened the door, greeted my cats, and put my phone on the windowsill.

I rushed to undo the knot on my summer shorts and proceeded to lower them down so that I could take my cock out and pee.  

Lifted the toilet lid and, with a satisfied sigh, shot a stream of yellow urine aimed at the bottom of the bowl. I must have been there for a few seconds. But it felt like eternity. In retrospect, maybe a couple of millimeters of whizz. I felt relieved, and I was ready to continue the video call with my best friend.

I put my dick inside and flushed the toilet. Grabbed my phone and saw a. black screen. I tried to figure it out, but it seemed he had hung up. I called him and waited for a minute to no avail.

I had lost the connection to my friend. I felt terrible. I blamed my urge to piss for this unfortunate act of destiny. Was it too long? Was he disgusted by the sound of my piss leaving my body? I was confused. i thought we were friends, and these things didn't really matter.

I walked out of the toilet feeling sad. I petted my cats and headed to the bedroom. "Maybe it was the time zones," I said, "Maybe he fell asleep." I crawled into bed and fell hard asleep.

The next morning, I was woken up by one of my cats. The usual routine. She would jump on me, demanding fresh water and food. I rolled over and checked the time on my phone. It was 5:00am. The typical time for my cats to wake me up. I saw a message from my friend and it read: "I am going to make some fish and rice, talk to you later."

Hrms Etc

29.8.205

Midnight Mishap

I woke up. Eyes blurry, mouth dry, feet cold, and an extreme urge to piss. My feet were colder than usual. My eyes were blurrier than normal. There was something off about this all. Maybe I was dreaming. "Yes, it must be one of those weird dreams I often have", I thought.

Placebo's Autoluminescent played in the back of my head.

"I am blinding

I am white heat

I am heaven-sent

I was a nightmare

But I'm not gonna go there

Again"

And for a verse, for a quick instant, I tricked myself into believing I was asleep. Sweet little lies we tell the kids so they fall asleep. To our friends, so they don't ache. To our dying mothers, that tomorrow everything will be alright. Oh, sweet little white lies. If only they were true. If only everything would be fine tomorrow. If only the heartache would die with a beer and tequila. If only the monsters under our beds would let us dream away the shadows of the night.

Brian Molko continued whispering:

"Into the black hole

The house of no contest

Make mine a meteor

Rise me above the rest

I'm soaring through outer space

There is no better place

To be"

I rubbed my eyes with my semi-numb hands to see if they could focus. If I was in dreamland, I wanted to see where I was. Would I see my mom this time? Perhaps, my cat Pelucha would be sitting by my feet looking up. I rubbed my eyes again. Nothing. It was all darkness. Just pitch back. Where the fuck was I this time?

I stopped rubbing my eyes as this was obviously not working. My feet were freezing now. The empty coldness was not only eating out my feet but, was extending to all the other parts of my body, my legs, hands, nose, and heart. This wasn't your normal dream or nightmare. This was something else. This was perhaps, reality?

I moved my hands around trying to feel my way around this place I was in. I soon touched a wall. Or was it a door? "Where am I? Fuck, Am I awake?" I went to bed. I was in bed. I was out with friends. I drank, they left, I had two more pints of beer and, called an Uber. I got home and went straight to bed. I must be dreaming. I should be in bed. 

I soon found a light switch on the wall in front of me. I pushed it and the light hurt more than any hangover has ever hurt. I was outside my apartment. In the middle of the night. Wearing just a T-shirt. No underwear, because I read many years ago that it is not healthy for men to sleep with boxers or trunks as they do not let the balls rest after spending all day locked up in a fabric prison. So since I can remember, I have always slept just with a T-shirt and no trunks. Fuck, and I needed to take a piss!

What was I doing outside my apartment in the middle of the night? No keys, no phone. no one to ask for help! And a full bladder did not help. I had to do something to empty it so that I could continue to think of a solution to my very unfortunate situation.

I decided to go out of the building and baptize the flowerbed of the Slovak neighbor who took over all of the tenants' garden lots. He was a 30-something Slovak guy who lived on the first floor and was on paternity leave. His wife sported the same haircut as he. I often mistook the wife for the guy until I realized the one holding the baby was the husband. I never crossed more than a good morning or a good evening with either of them. 

I opened the door to the street and immediately realized that if I went out I would be half naked and locked out of the building in the middle of the night. I looked for something to keep the door from closing. I didn't need to make things worse just cuz I had to piss. I was already in one hell of a situation. I didn't need to make things even more surreal. What was I going to tell everyone in the morning? I didn't even know what time it was. I guess I wanted to urinate and I woke up and walked to the toilet, and by mistake opened the wrong door, which is strategically located opposite the entrance door. who designed this fucking apartment. I had a big complaint.

I found a cardboard box my neighbors use for the junk mail. "This might work out", I thought. I grabbed the box and placed it so that the door wouldn't close behind me. I did all this from the inside of the building. Once I saw It would hold the door open, I slowly pulled the door open and slid through the opening not applying any force to the door to cause it to slam it shut behind me while taking a leak.

Once outside, I didn't need to take my cock out of my pants as I was not wearing any. It was a freeing experience given the situation. I had never had the opportunity of pissing on someone's flowerbed out in the open, even if it was deep into the night. God knows what time it was. And I wasn't ready to ask either. All I could think about was if anyone had spiked up my drink, or if I had become a sleepwalker.

Before I was finished, I saw people coming my way. Probably going home to their bed after a night out in the pub with their friends. Shit!, I need to finish now, otherwise, they will see me half-ass naked pissing on this Slovak guy's flowerbed, this is something I do not want people to know about, at least not firsthand. it's always better when you tell people a story and add certain humor to it so that it becomes less disgusting or real. 

Placebo kept on playing somewhere and it was not in my head and I could relate to their lyrics:

"Into the darkness

I gave away myself

Slipped on the spiral stairs

Tumbling down the well

I fell on a soft spot

I'm white heat, I'm white hot

Again

Again..."

I ran inside without even shaking it. I didn't want the situation I was in to worsen. I wanted this nightmare to end and to wake up in my bed. With my cats. To make things even more grim my better half was in the mountains skiing, hundreds of kilometers away from me. And my cats never mastered the skill of door opening on command. Wasted time owning cats and never teaching them useful tricks.

To make the story short, I ran back inside and decided to knock at my neighbor's door. Hoping they would open. And they did. After a short introduction to the problem, my neighbor invited me into his flat. gave me a fresh pair of boxers, water, and a chair to sit on. He began calling locksmiths to see who would pick up the tab. After an hour of trying and getting to know each other, one guy replied and said he would arrive in 30 minutes. 

We talked about our childhoods, and how it was for me coming to his country. I had never had such a long conversation in Czech with anyone as I did with him. His wife was in their bedroom with their infant boy trying to sleep while I spoke Czech and sipped on water and hoped a locksmith would answer and come and help me get home. I was sitting 4 meters away from my own home. It was terrible I couldn't just go home and sleep this off.

We continued talking about our lives and why I had ended up in his country. If I had suffered any type of discrimination, and If I like their food. Our jobs, hobbies, and musical preferences. The locksmith arrived. He took out a strange device and opened my apartment's door in less than 3 seconds.

I walked in, walked towards my bedroom, picked up my phone, and headed to the door to pay the guy for his service. I thanked my new friend and neighbor for the help and closed the door behind me. This time I made sure I closed the door standing on the right side of it. Praying to the Lord above to never happen to me ever again. At least, I had peed and could go back to bed to live until the next morning and hope nobody other than those living across from me would ever know.

Hrms Etc

11.6.24

A Pissing Nightmare

It was December 31st. Everyone was ready to party and ready to leave the year 2017 behind. It had been a year that took so much away from us. Not only had a bunch of people committed suicide, but the year's political and social events had taken a toll on everyone, including me.

I was already sipping on my second vodka with peach juice. There was something about this juice that reminded me of home, my long time forsaken home. The sugar and added chemicals of this particular brand of beverage always reminded me of my years in high school. I guess I was happy to have found this particular drink, to mix with the Russian vodka leftovers from one of the summer parties we had had.

Everyone was grouped already, and several things were being discussed. Politics, music, and generally shit. I was trying to find the right moment for me to laugh, giggle, of sigh. it was like I was looking for a cue of sort of to interact in a natural way, just to make it till midnight, or until everyone was drunk and possibly high to stop pretending to be the way they all wanted or expected me to be.

I remember looking at my phone, just to see the time. To see if my predictions on when would the people around me would become tipsy or even drunk. Just to see how much longer I would have to be there.

My glass was suddenly empty. I moved like a shadow into the kitchen and refilled my tall glass with the potato distillate of the land of the Czars and the saccharine solution we all called juice back home. I didn't even need ice cubes. My drink was perfectly chilled and ready to be gulped down. It didn't really matter. I would pissed it eventually. And I would power walk the carbohydrates left in my system not to gain more weight. Yes, I had began walking a couple of months ago, and I had began seeing the results. At least, I would sleep better, without acid reflux. A good night sleep was what I had secretly longed for already many years.

I went back to my assumed position in the party. My group was still talking about things I didn't understand, or secretly didn't want to.

"So, we heard you didn't have any friends", someone fired away

"Uh, I do have friends", I said

"Good", a girl standing to my right said

"I have friends, they just don't live here" I continued, "they are scattered all over the world, one lives in Germany, another one lives in Rio and there is one in Mexico, so I do have friends, they are my best friends, we just don't see each other as often as we would like"

"Why don't you have friends here?". A guy mumbled across from where I was standing

"It is difficult to connect with people with whom I don't share anything in common with", I said

"That sounds a bit weird, don't you think?", another girl asked me

"It does, I guess, but when you have decided to live things ahead of what you are supposed to, it makes perfect sense. You lose proximity with the rest of the people, but gain a stronger bond with those, who like me, have chosen their own path in life, rather than following what is expected from them, socially".

I was having a conversation with the people in the group of party goers. It wasn't a very productive talk, I gathered. However, I was interacting. But after so many Vodka drinks, my bladder was totally full and I needed to relieve it from such burden.

I sneaked away from the living room and headed towards the toilet.

As I opened the door, I found myself in a huge room, which was barely lit and had lots of gigantic mirrors above the sinks. Around the place where one is supposed to wash after doing their business  —or like me, before actually doing anything, because to be honest, I do not remember all the places where my hands have been— there were the urinals and cabins. 

All the cabins were in a pretty deplorable state. There walls, all sported punch holes, and some of them were falling apart.

I tried to find one with the best cover, as I am a very shy individual and at least when pissing, I like my privacy.

Once I did, I began to unzip my pants. 

But for some reason, lots of guys came into the toilets and began searching for a place where to get rid of all their alcoholic urine. So in question of seconds, before I had even start, a guy was pounding on the door of the cabin I was in, shouting: "hey, come one, I need to piss".

I saw how the other cabins on the right and on the left became occupied and I could see the guys staring at me while they pissed their beer and their liquors. I couldn't even start. I was a shy motherfucker trapped inside a toilet cabin, being watched and being expected to finish pissing real soon.

"What a nightmare", I thought to myself.

Hermes Coldwell

31.12.2017

Don't Hold The Wall

It was a rainy night. A rainy Friday night. And as usual I met with my friends. Out for beer we went. I have never cared too much for the kind of place I go as long as the company brings something that loneliness cannot just give you. A good company is a good company in heaven and in hell.

It was 8 in the night. I was ready for drinking the night away. I was ready to create new moments and recall old stories. I was ready and so were all of my friends.

We met under the clock, near the tram stop. Quick smoked our cigarettes and teased each other in our own very sarcastic ways. Marketa had a bottle of white wine with her. She offered us to sip on it while we walked towards the stop. I took several hits despite the fact of having a strange dislike for white wine. It was 2009 and some of us talked about the summer hits. The new, the good and the bad.

Music talks were great when Marketa was around. She loved the Killers. In fact she loved a song by The Killers. I liked the band so we often played them on the jukebox. She also liked Oasis. Not just one song, but all of them. Probably the biggest fan of Oasis that I had ever met.

We were about 15 people. A cluster of eagerness and fading youth heading to a new place. As long as they had a jukebox and good beer the night would unroll nicely and easily.

We continued to drink from Marketa's sweet little bottle of wine while we were on the tram. And soon we were there. Magda and Erik rushed towards the door and we followed.

We entered a placed called The Cop Bar. I can assure you that all I was expecting was a place full of barflies and lowlife cops and maybe a couple of toothless hookers, but to my surprise and everyone else's the crowd was somewhat similar to us.

One beer, shouted Marketa.

One for me, said Erik.

I want a glass of wine, said Magda.

The rest of us ordered beer, like the good guys we were. The night had officially begun.

As we drank beer, shots and wine, Marketa would stand up, walk to the jukebox and insert a coin to continue playing her favorite Oasis song. It was about 10 pm and the I had begun feeling the booze in my system. I wanted to pee. So I excused myself and headed to the toilets of The Cop Bar. The toilet was tiny. It consisted of a sink, a urinal and a toilet seat. The urinal was being pissed on by some guy who in order to keep balance had leaned against his arm which was resting on the wall.

I then walked towards the toilet only to hear a warning from the pissing guy next to me.

I hate pissing in the urinal, he said

Hmmm right, I sighed

I said I hate pissing in the urinal, he mumbled again, they make them wrong and when I pee, my shoes get splashed with piss.

That is why you are leaning over the wall?, I asked 

Nah, I am drunk and I pissed all over my pants, he said

Oh, well, you can always tell them you were washing your hands and the water pressure was to much that you got all wet.

That's a good one, I will use it next time, the guy zipped up and left the room.

Poor guy, I thought, he was too drunk that he pissed himself. I have to ask the guys if they have ever pissed themselves. I laughed inside silently. I shook my cock. Concealed it inside my boxers and zipped up. I had to wash my hands, not like that guy before me, what a dirty dude. I stood in front of the sink, I opened the faucet and the water came out stronger than I had thought splashing all over my pants. Yes, now it looked like I had pissed my pants, just like the other dude had. Karma works in mysterious ways, I thought.

Coldwell

30.10.2015

.

Shit Happens

The night seemed to last forever. And there I was. The O2 Arena was full of the most bizarre people I had ever seen. All gathered there to dance to the beats of Paul Van Dyk. It was not a place I would have chosen to be that night or any other night. In fact, I never thought I would ever pay to attend such a concert. I was more of a rock music type. Beer, smokes and at least 3 power-chord songs decorated with spit and vomit would make my day.

But no, I was at an Electronic concert. I was an alien to the whole subculture. People there didn't look normal. What was normal anyway?. I must admit that some of the attendees had a good taste for looking somewhat off. They all looked like the cool kids in my high school thought they looked like, even though they never quite did.

The place was huge and it was full of people, mostly wearing white clothes with a touch of darker colors giving them a slick accent that in the dark of the night certainly seemed attractive to the eye. They were practitioners of the Techno lifestyle deception. Mystifying their flaws under million lights shining the darkness away for short whiles. Covering up their scars and empty carcass like bodies with make up and expensive looking garments. 

There was something odd to this crowd. It was not the kind of music they adored. The music was ok. There was something wrong and obscure. I couldn't figure it out. So I moved to the bar, located at the side of the dance floor. Surprisingly enough, getting booze was easier than I had expected. People were everywhere, but the bar was not on their map.

"One beer", I said.

"One hundred crowns please", replied a lady with pink hair. 

One hundred crowns, for a beer, "that's fucking expensive", I said to myself. I took my wallet out of my green converse bag and reached for a 200kc bank note. I paid and grabbed my plastic cup with beer inside and I walked back to my spot near the stage.

Again, it was quite easy to move back and forth from my place by the stage to the bar and back again. This was something new to me. There was no mosh pit and people pushing their sweaty bodies against mine at all time just to be closer to the stage to catch a glimpse of their favorite rock stars.

People were everywhere, but it seemed that they had a designated spot to dance freely with no human touch to bother them. Without mixing the salty sweat of the ones around them. For God's sake!, not even spit was being projected out from their mouths. It was organized chaos. And they all looked perfectly in their white pants and white tank tops.

I kept on repeating my routine of going to the bar and getting beer with no effort. "It is great", I thought. The music continued and the people never stopped dancing. My feet hurt. The show was boring. Instead I decided to watch the people around me and try to learn some new steps for the next time I had to dance. They danced in ways I had never seen people from this country dance like. There was something totally wrong about the whole thing.

After 4 beers I decided to hit the toilets. 

That was a journey. Unlike going to the bar for beer refills.

It was like everyone had to go to piss at the same time. "Maybe there is free goodies", I thought. After having pushed my way through I stepped inside one of the many men's rooms.

There were no free goodies. In fact inside the party had taken a different turn. And then, only then, all my suspicions came to an end. 

There were about 10 urinals lined up on the left across from the toilet cabins. There were 5 sinks and a huge empty white hall. All the urinals were taken. All the doors to the cabins were locked. I had to wait in a well organized queue. Behind me, still queuing, the guys danced to their favorite tunes. At the sinks, the guys danced as they washed their hands. And at the urinals, the guys decided to stop dancing and concentrate on something which seemed to be the cause of this party being different.

"Hey, do you have some cocaine?", asked the guy behind me

"Hmmm, no I don't sorry", replied politely

"What about some speed?", he went on

"I am out of speed", I said, trying to fit in

"Anything to smoke?" he inquired

"Just cigarettes"

"Can I have one?", I nodded and gave him one. I took my lighter out and lit a small greenish flame. He lowered his head and lit his cigarette.

"Thanks", he said while exhaling a large cloud of carbon monoxide.

"Yeah, sure", I said and turned around trying to find an empty spot for my urine. 

"Hey, care for some weed?", he asked

"Hmmm, yeah why not" I fired back, "do you have any?"

"No, I don't, but my friend has some good shit"

"Well, let me pee and I'll meet you outside"

"OK"

Some dude finished doing business with the urinal and walked back to the concert hall. It was my turn to finally piss the shit out of that urinal. 

So, I unzipped my pants and took my penis out. Oh it was good, too much beer had to be drained from my system. Then, I heard a loud moan. It was the guy taking a leak right next to me, on my left side. I couldn't avoid turning my head and looking at him. With his right hand he was rubbing something on his gums, and with his left hand he was holding a large cock that was far from passing unnoticed, even if you are one of those men who do not like to look at other men's tools at the toilets. 

"Damn", I thought, "is it hard or is it just a big chunk of manhood he is holding out there?". He went on moaning. His breath became harder and shorter as if he felt an orgasm coming. I directed my sight back on my business. Then I turned my head to the right, and saw that the guy next to me was also looking at Moaner, and then at his cock. And then I saw on his face the same expression I thought I had made when I saw that tremendous dick.

The guy on my right quickly finished pissing. Moaner continued to moan."He must be having a pig orgasm", I thought. Immediately, the urinal on my right was being used, or abused again. And I continued to urinate. 

Soon I heard a sound similar to what tic tacs make when you take them and place them on the palm of your hand. Everyone in that place was doing drugs. Moaner seemed to have finished as the moaning had stopped. His place filled up almost immediately. I was nearly done too. So I shook my dick, concealed it back into its place and headed to the sinks.

It was then when I heard it. An angry woman shouted: "Fuck you, I told you not to come inside", I halted as the door from one cabin opened and reveled a young woman in her 20s storming out with her face smeared with different fluids and colors. The guy sat on the toilet with his pants down and a face full of disappointment.

"These people certainly know how to party like rock stars", I said to myself. "Will I end up doing something similar if I smoke that joint?". I washed my hands and left to get myself a nice cold beer and continue to enjoy the decadent party that still had lots to offer.

Coldwell

5.2.13

In The Middle

I sat uncomfortable at our table. There were strangers and our nights had become somewhat inclusive. However, I really miss the way those nights unrolled. There was no work talk. Not that anyone cared about it but I think I kinda did. We would talk about France and wine tasting. Ostrava and its night life. Mexico and the fact that nobody rides donkeys when they commute.

I liked this place. Rodeo Drive had become the place to go after work. The food was totally different from what you could find everywhere else. Beer? I didn't really care as long as it kept on coming. I liked to have Fish & Chips. The real thing? nah, but it did the trick. Tasty and plentiful.

This night offered more than the usual. In addition to the French man, the German and the Czechs. An American newcomer happened to be there. Sitting right next to me. I had seen him before at McDonald's carrying a food tray with more food that I could ever even think of buying. Even for two people. It was too much food. "Maybe he is here with a group of friends from work", I thought to myself while waiting in line and following him with my eyes. "No, he is alone", I sighed.

Most of the conversations would start with my stories. Sometimes the Czechs would share information on new places where we could meet up the following Friday. Sometimes the French one would surprise us with his thick accent and a joke. I really never had a problem with his accent, but he would often ask us if his accent in English was American or truly British. We didn't care. We liked him for who he was and his accent would always put a childish smile on our tired faces.

Sometimes, we would make plans for the weekend. Not that night. That night went towards one of the most bizarre nights I had ever lived through.

"Circumcision", someone said. We all looked at the American. He went on by expressing how sad he was of not having had the choice, when he was born, of saying no to the removal of his foreskin. The German quickly try to change the topic of conversation by talking about french vineyards. Of the beautiful weather of south France in the summer. French cheese, "it is delicious", she emphasized with a mouthwatering sound. Her plan did not work at all. American boy had our attention.

"That's why next Spring, I will have my foreskin reattached", he said. We all were in for a hell of a story. A friend of mine removed her glasses and stared at him. She was intrigued by such statement. Somebody asked foreskin guy, "wouldn't it hurt a lot?, I mean, to..." she paused. I was just sitting there waiting for the right words not to sound like a complete dick. Pun intended.

There we were, at our favorite place discussing foreskins and skin grafting to cover some dick's second head up with skin from some unfortunate organ donor whom American Foreskin dude hoped had the same complexion. "It has to look natural",he added.

"All I want to do after my surgery is to go to some baseball game", he said, "like the Yankees or the Cubs"."Man up", I said to myself. 

"Are you from from New York?", I asked

"No, I am from California", he replied

"And you like the Yankees?", I continued

"No, I just can't help to imagine what it would be like to be there for a game"

"Yeah, lots of people, I don't like places with more people than it is necessary"

"Listen, every time I am pissing", he paused, "I have this urge"

"Urge?"

"Yeah, I have always thought about doing it"

Everyone was there just listening to our little conversation. It was like when you were a child and someone would go and tell you a horror story about some brutal killer on the loose, and the narrator would just continue to elaborate a story that is supposed to be short. The killer kills and that's it. Yet a good narrator always builds up a state or condition of mental uncertainty or excitement, as in awaiting a decision or outcome,usually accompanied by a degree of apprehension or anxiety. He was a good one, even though his story was about his trying to put a hood on his German war helmet.

"You have always thought about doing what?", I inquired

"You know, when I am pissing, especially in a public toilet, I always use the urinal in the middle"

"Go on", said one of my friends

"So, yeah, I wanna go to a Yankees games, and during the 7th inning, head to the men's room. Imagine how packed it would be", His eyes shone in excitement

"I would go straight into the men's room, unzip my pants, take out a gigantic black dildo and slap it against the urinal"

Everyone went mute. 

"Imagine the other guys' reaction", he added.

"It has to be one of those stainless steel urinals", he continued, "Imagine the sound it'd make".

Coldwell

22.1.13

The Devil Is In All Of You

My phone kept on ringing. I left it on the table. And took several hits of rum. The ice had already melted but my drink was nicely cold. The goddamn phone kept on ringing. Nobody ever bothered to call me and ask how I was or that shit. But tonight it was ringing. Somebody wanted to talk to me. And I didn't. 

I never considered myself to be a bad person, let alone rude or uncaring. Friends always told me that I should learn how to be assertive.  But I just didn't want to answer that phone call. I took another hit of Bacardi and washed it down with beer. I could feel the booze making its way into my system, slowly but surely. It felt good. 

I noticed that my phone had stopped ringing. I turned it off. My ipod was in my bag, on the chair next to mine. I reached inside my green Converse bag and grabbed it. I managed to untangle the headphone's cable and I put them on. I liked this place, Mandragora, a run-down rock pub with a broken PA system. The perfect place for me to get on with my writing.

I enjoyed being there. Cheap booze, darkness and pictures of rock bands no one had ever heard of before hung perfectly from the slimy walls. Decoration or just a vain attempt to cover up the filth of these walls, I thought. I liked slimy walls better, I smirked.

I had shared this place with only a few people. They never liked it. It stinks like piss, one said. The other two had a posh attitude towards everything and they rated this bar as a shit hole. I didn't care. I can be here by myself, I thought. I enjoyed being alone. With some drinks and my notebook. Alone was ok.

I began writing some lines. It was November 2010. I kept on drinking. Another beer?, the waiter asked me. And a shot of Absinth, I replied.

Soon the drinks were on the table, right next to my black leather notebook. I wrote and wrote. Cold Red Light by IAMX was playing. I felt the energy flow through my skin towards my fingertips. I was writing something that wasn't part of what I had intended to write. I had had some beers and I was shooting up absinth straight into my blood.

I closed my eyes and when I opened them I was heading towards the toilet. It stank of shit and cigarettes. But I didn't care. The doors of the toilet actually locked. Something unusual about toilets of places like this. I liked to be able to lock myself in the bathroom and do my business without having to care about being interrupted by drunk patrons of Mandragora.

I was there. I wiped clean the toilet seat. I unzipped my pants and pulled them down. I sat down. I wasn't sure if I wanted to shit or just to piss. It didn't matter. Marilyn Manson began to play.

"Hey, cruel world…You don’t have what it takes

We don’t need your faith.

We’ve got fucking fate."

I sat there looking at the walls of this one toilet I was at. There was nothing new to see. Stickers of Anti Fascism and graffiti. I checked to see if there was enough toilet paper. There was plenty. I was fine.   

"The center of the universe

Cannot exist

When there are no,

No edges"

Manson sang. And I listened. Then the middle eight of the song kicked in. I could hear some people outside. I could make out some banging. I could only think. Are they fighting?. Should I stay in here?. Should I call the police?. Fuck, I thought, I don't know what to do. I heard some screaming. The banging got louder and so did the song. I will stay here, I said to myself. There is no way I am going to open this door now. I paused the song. I removed my headphones. The shouting got quieter and quieter. And in an instant, it was quiet as a grave.

I waited. I pulled my pants up and tried to peek through one of the cracks the door bore as a signature of violence and of bravery. There was nobody outside. At least no one I could see. I thought of running away from that place. I thought of the fact that I still had to pay for what I had ingested. I thought of leaving the bathroom and being blamed for the raucous. Shit, I thought of being mauled by the ferocious men that instants ago had been fighting in this very place. 

I opened the door and the first thing I saw was a man lying on the floor. There was no blood. Only piss and paper towels everywhere. I left the toilet as quickly as I could. They Waiter was at my table replenishing my beer. I waved at him, and signal him to come with me. He did. 

He stopped right outside the toilet and right in front of me. What? he asked. There was a fight, I said, and a man is on the floor, I continued. He opened the door and went inside. I followed. He stooped down and put his hand on the man's neck. He went on, this man is deceased.

Hrms Etc

8.1.13

 

Yucatan Is Not Always In Mexico

Rock music buzzed in my ears. The table I was at, was filthy and full of semi empty shot glasses of various spirits. Ash and empty packs of cigarettes decorated the flat surface of the cheap table of this bar called Yucatan. I had had many beers and shots of tequila, vodka and sometimes my own spit, in a vain attempt to keep my insides in.

Little Sister was on the loud speakers. The beat of the song made me bang my head to its rhythm in a somewhat slow motion kinda way. I needed to piss. I knew the lyrics to Little Sister as I knew what our ritualistic night would be all about, beer, tequila shots, both silver and gold, vodka chasers and beer all over again. Packs of cigarettes would disappear after the first round of cold golden non-filtered ale.

I stood up and bumped away the people sitting next to me. A loud bang followed by broken glass and cold beer splashing the floors and my shoes.This made me rush towards the urinals of this god forsaken pub. I had to piss now.

I stepped in the men's room and with my right hand tried to look for the light switch. Once I'd found it a buzzing sound came up and then a white light showed me the way. I unzipped and took my cock out. I was trying so hard to concentrate. I heard another song being played outside on the jukebox. It was another song by the Queens of the Stone Age. I could tell. I had all the albums on my ipod.

There were three urinals and I chose to piss in the last one as I never liked to use the one in the middle. The idea of having two other dudes pissing next to me was somewhat weird. I was still trying to gather the strength to get rid of the unnecessary urine in my bladder. I was trying so hard it hurt.

Then I saw this number written on the adjacent wall. It was a phone number and under it it read: "call me if you want me to blow you". What the hell, I thought, who would actually call this number. What if I call to see who is on the other side?. Fuck. Why was I even thinking of calling this number?. What if it was only a prank played to some dude and he didn't even know his phone had been advertised with such a service. It had to be a prank, there was no price listed. Who would do that for free?, especially to anyone pissing at this place?

I began to piss. What a relief. It was wonderful to finally be able to get rid of this. This place stank, but my piss was in great amount a mix of tequila, vodka and beer. I need to buy food for tomorrow. It's New Year's Eve and everything will be closed. Fuck, I need more cigarettes and maybe I will drink one more beer.

A slow song began to play. I zipped up and moved to the sink. I washed my hands and dried them on the back of my black sweatshirt. I was back at the table with my friends and the drinks were plenty.

Hrms Etc

31.12.12