The day after

It was horrible. He couldn’t sleep. He tossed and tossed and tossed, the blankets had been itching him all fucking night. T’was his fault anyways, he stolen that freaking blanket from his last day at the army, way back when he did any motion at all. Now he sits there, in front of the TV and looks on seemingly forever.

She devastated him.

What was it about women? He wondered out loud, ’cause he really hadn’t either a social life at all either and his apartment was a stinking mess, a pigsty. Hey, he was a guy, waddaya expect? He had been unemployed, surviving on welfare for the past 7 months. His previous employer fired him. He just couldn’t concentrate anymore, his thought on that woman that broke his heart. He became fixated, obsessed with her lucious body. She dumped him. Love dried out and he, he only wanted sex, sex, sex. Little wonder, he thought, they stopped going out and more and more the only reason he only wanted to see her was to make love. Love for him, sex for her. He hasn’t recuperated ever since. So he sits there, watching TV, doing the occasional errand to the store to get more beer, more food, and sundrys of that sort. I really don’t recall how we met. It must of have been there, at George’s Sundrys. All I remember of that day was his hedious appearance, unshaven and being a hot day you couldn’t really miss the armpit nauseating stench. I remarked offended that I didn’t see any deodorant on his list.

That’s when he caught my eye, I saw in his eyes the look of the brotherhood.