Here is a little rough excerpt from something I have been working on for a few months now. - More details on this later - It is the next project after Mors Volintaria gets put to bed.
I wake up behind the city hall and it feels like a hairbrush is lodged in my back-side. One of my teeth are chipped and both of the palms of my hands are scraped off. There are little stones stuck in the palms of my hands, and dried snot on my face. My mouth tastes like American cigarettes and blood. Every inch of me aches and I begin to wonder what the hell happened to me. How is it that a man of my age can travel this far in life down the wrong path? Didn't I see it coming? Didn't I know that things would turn out this way?
Why did I decide to do this? What did I expect to find out by giving up? I try to stand and slowly push my legs straight. I feel like I could tip over any minute and have to wait for a few seconds to get a little balance. My stomach rolls over on itself and I immediately want to smoke a cigarette regardless of how bad I feel. A half of one flattened on the pavement catches my eye, I work at making it round again, light it.
The smoke thickens my chest and for a few seconds I listen to the robins and the sparrows celebrate the morning. They celebrate the fact that they are still alive, that they have survived the night. The dampness that has stiffened my joints is slowly dissolving and I can feel the warmth of the day starting to sink in. I wretch and heave a few times, careful not to drop my smoke. A long string of mucus and bile ribbons out of my mouth and catches on the side of my face. The birds keep singing and I start to shuffle my feet slowly in the direction of the park. I want to find Amber, maybe get a coffee and shoot the shit with her about the night before. A smile pulls my face back and it feels tight against my scull. All of this pain and still I feel more alive than I ever have.
