Circo Beat
Some bastard is pissing, against a wall. The yellowish liquid bounces away, and flows towards some bum holding a piece of cardboard that reads: “I am blind. Help me.” Close to the bum, a dead cockroach is being devoured by thousands of ants, which will be drowned by the piss in about thirty seconds. The bastard stops pissing, zips up, and walks towards the bum, almost slipping in his own urine. I can now tell that he’s drunk. The bum moves his head towards the direction of the man, listening to his steps. “You’re one fugly son of a whore, aren’t you?” the bastard asks the bum, kneeling towards him, before kicking the can next to him. Coins disperse on the sidewalk, as the bastard, this magnificent asshole, walks away with a smile on his face. The bum crawls around the sidewalk, shouting things I may not repeat, and trying to find his lost coins. He touches the dead cockroach. And he touches the urine. I am sitting on a bench, a few meters away from the scene, waiting for the taxi I called for twenty minutes ago. I fix my tie, and click my tongue –trying to make the bum notice me. I’m trying to make him know I’m there, and I’m trying to make him know I don’t want to help him. I’m trying to make him know I consider him the worst kind of person, and that I too am a bastard, and that everybody needs to be a bastard against his kind. I half-wish him to be able to see me. Me. Smiling, with my Hugo Boss tie, pink –with silver stripes-, and my Ray-Ban sunglasses, that I wear even at night, only to let people know that I have them, and that I paid two-hundred dollars for them. For example, “hard sun we got this night, eh?” mutters the bastard, as he walks on by, -impregnating my nostrils with the urine smell, and the horrible cologne- fueled with hate. Or, is it jealousy? You see, I may look ridiculous using sunglasses at night, but I get noticed, and I can tell that the “hell, those are good sunglasses” thought comes way before the “what kind of asshole uses sunglasses at night?” one. A few meters from me, the poor bum finally collects almost all the coins around him, and sits down next to the wall again, exhausted. He smells his hand, and whines to himself. He’s almost crying. He rests his back against the wall, spreads his legs across the sidewalk, exhausted. I smile. Suddenly, the man feels something dump underneath him. He touches his trousers, and then smells again. The urine has finally reached his spot. Resentfully, the bum crawls away a couple of meters, and then sits down again.
Suddenly, I feel a sting in my chest. I feel sad for the bastard. Even though he’s probably an alcoholic, a drug addict, or just some stupid asshole who tossed away all the opportunities thrown at him because he wanted to become some kind of artist. I examine the face of the bum. Probably a painter. Maybe a musician. I stand up, sighing and walk across the street, towards him, with my hands inside the pockets of my black Armani coat. It’s a cold night, I admit to myself. Even though it’s summer, and its supposed to be warm and colorful, everything seems bland and distasteful. Like if we were inside some detective movie of the forties. I think it’s going to rain. Groaning, I pull out one of my hands, and reach towards one of the quarters the bum didn’t manage to retrieve. Then I walk towards him, and place it inside his can. It is then when he notices someone else is there. Suddenly, he lifts his head from his arm, and starts to scream like madman: “God bless! God bless!” I get the impression that I am the only good thing that has happened to him all day. Sighs. My Rolex watch says it’s 9:30. Transportation will be arriving shortly.
*Just a short story. Crits are welcomed, and pretty much needed*
