Who walks with this straight back? With his eyes straight forward for him to peer into this collective soul of our human populace? No one. I see that our entire chaotic existence skips and jumps - blurs out any chance of comprehension. Too much for so little time.

Is this mine? I saw it lying on the table but I wasn't sure if it was left here for you or me. It does have the qualities of something that you would cherish. It's outlined in red and the interior is soft. I can't come to the conclusion if you would need it as much as I do but I didn't want to be presumptuous. I could hold onto it for a little while longer if you don't mind. I promise that I'll take care good care of it and that I won't let it out of my site. All you have to do is ask for it back when you want it and I will oblige.

The last drink went down hard. A lot more vicious than the seven that preceded it. The bartender should have kicked me out an hour ago when I played the same song on the jukebox three times in a row. Drunk and disheveled, the epitome of the wasted fool. No money in my pocket and even less sense in my head. City street lights wave and lean with my drunken meanderings. On my way home to celebrate the illusion of the illustrious life that I live.

First time, last time.
Time in general. Time where I was
and where I ended. Events will
jump and resurface in another
space.
I took your name and number and coveted it.

There are times when I lie alone at night and the sound of the street permeates through my single paned bedroom window. The occasional screech and siren disturb my restless sleep and I have to go through the motions of emptying my head so that I can fall back. There are also times that I awaken and stare into the empty space next to me and see your ghostly face.
This is the last time I say as drift back of to sleep. The last time I cry at the sight of your eyes, the last time I cry out your name while I fuck myself, the last time I recite these lines.
These are the motions that I go through as I try to shove the last memories of you out of my brain.

I looked down at the cat at my feet, picked him up and flung him out the window. I tried to put as much spin on him as I could and it looked like it was working. Head over feet around tail. I watched him secede to gravity until he met the ground. Landing on his paws, he shook his head and looked up at me.
"See, I told you so."
"C'mon one more try," I pleaded.
The cat turned around and walked away. Disregarding the can of tuna that I had bet him. Content in the fact that he was right.

The first thing that I noticed was that my fingers weren't even twitching. The whole thing was just lying there, lifeless and still. It had yet to drain and fade and lose its life like color. The end where it seperated from my shoulder was a bloody stump and there was sinew and veins dangling from the end. It appeared to have rebelled against my body and detached itself for what it perceived to be a better existance.
I picked the limb up and examined it. Completely unaware of the messages that my nerve endings were sending. Their screams falling upon a deaf brain.
One of the first things I noticed was that I had no fingerprints. The same hand that had slapped others, including myself, in the face had no discerning characteristics. It seemed to morph into everything that I had tried to grasp and couldn't.
I stared at it for hours, trying to contemplate it's benefit. It occured to me that I could learn to write with my left hand and proceeded to toss it into the empty dumpster to my right.

While I was trolling the streets for opinionated vagrants the hairs on my knuckles stood on end as the last person I expected to see turned the corner in her now accelerating automobile. I believe that I heard what sounded to be the -hole end of asshole being dopplered from my center to my left as she continued on her way. The red tail lights of the car disappeared as she made yet another turn. I began to doubt my suspicions and asked the old gentleman splayed out at my feet if he could remember a time when everything had a purpose.