Guest Post 8: Anonymous

He awoke to the sound of heavy purring. Or was it the the fur in his mouth? Whatever. He was confronted with cat breath and a hungry cat sitting squarely on his chest purring inquisitively into his face.

He shoved the fur ball off causing the thing to stumble onto his desk of empty glasses, a laptop. Long unused, crusted over syringes fell and tinkled to the ground.

The cat was all that was left of her. She was gone. Long fucking gone. Up and left without a word. He didnt even own a litter box. He wondered briefly "Where does this thing shit?" He rubbed his eyes.

He hated cats, hated her, hated mornings. He rose slowly.

Despite his feelings for the feline, it represented a truth, evidence.

Long night of heated and sweaty screaming, orgasm after orgasm had been replaced with nap after nap. A tiny mewing mouth wanting to be fed.

The crust and amnesia had been replaced with clarity and full remembrance. The truth of just how mediocre his life had become. The cat brushed up against his legs.

Bliss came in double overhead waves of serotonin and dopamine, cooked and cut, powdered and boiled.

The throbbing pulse stopped when he felt the time had come, that or when the money ran out.

They descended the musty stairs past some bullshit felt rope crusted with jizz and spent hope or up into a cavernous loft with soft dark corners.

The bass line, the kick drum, the bright lights, the fair-weather family he'd made for himself wrapped their leather clad arms around his ego and rubbed and spat and stroked and licked.

All that was left was stupid fucking cat. With an ugly asshole. As adorable as it was annoying.

The thing leapt under an arm chair as his phone began buzzing and scampering across the desk, he disabled his morning alarm.

As he slid the silken knot of his tie the door of his flat burst open.

His roommates stumbled in loudly vacillating between conversation between the merits of modern typographic form and some girls tits or lack-thereof.

He waited for them to disperse and he stepped into the predawn haze. He looked toward the projects and smokestacks that bookended his street. He began walking toward the train hoping the sun would cut through some of the goddamn haze.