I scream
Sun was a piss-yellow lemon, world a gris soup.
Woke up with a rhythm poundin’ in my skull,
like a drunk piano player tryin’ to tune a chainsaw.
Got out of bed, stiff as a rusty gate,
and started to move. Not dance, more like a desperate plea
to somethin’ out there, maybe a pissed-off gopher.
Universe, you big, indifferent zero, watch this:
I’m a broken record scratchin’ out a tune to nowhere.
I’m flailin’ and stompin’ and singin’ off-key,
a one-man band at a deaf school.
Yeah, I’m a joke, a stain, a cosmic accident,
but I’m still here, still movin’.
So laugh, you cold, empty bastard, laugh.
But watch me dance.
Streetlights flickered, casting long shadows that danced on the worn cafe floor. Smoke curled from Pilgrim’s cigarette, a foreign aroma in the cool evening air. He had no satchel, just a presence that seemed to hold a thousand journeys.
“Japan,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble with a hint of accent. His eyes, deep and dark, held stories whispered in ancient temples and shouted over the roar of bullet trains.
I leaned closer, captivated. The cafe faded away, replaced by vibrant visions. Cherry blossoms unfurled, painting the world a delicate pink. I stood reverent before majestic shrines, the weight of history pressing down. The rush of a bullet train blurred the landscape, a symphony of speed and steel.
His voice spoke of haikus, capturing fleeting moments with a poet’s touch. I tasted rain-washed streets and the quiet hum of a life lived in harmony with nature. Time warped and stretched, the city a distant hum outside our shared world.
When I finally emerged, blinking into the city lights, it felt different. Neon signs held a new mystery, a reflection of the Tokyo moon he’d described. There were no goodbyes, just a lingering smile and a warmth in my chest. The embers of wanderlust fanned into a blaze.
Sun beat down, another day melting into the humidity.
Met Pin in the lobby, her laughter bright as a temple bell.
“Fruit market adventure?” she chirped, a whirlwind of loose braids and optimism.
Sure, why not escape this stale room for a dose of rambutan roulette?
The market pulsed with life, vendors hawking mangoes in singsong voices,
the air thick with the sweet-sour tang of exotic fruits.
She nudged me, a playful jab that couldn’t mask the heat shimmering off the tin roofs.
We bartered with a wrinkled vendor, her words a melodic riddle.
Weaving through the crowd, dodging motorbikes with practiced ease.
Pin’s eyes darted to a cart, a triumphant grin spreading across her face.
“Durian candy!” she exclaimed, brandishing a package like a flag.
My heart did a little durian dance – finally, a worthy market find!
“Deep-fried heaven in candy form, finally!” I declared, reaching for a piece.
She chuckled, pulling one out. “Here, share the love!”
We unwrapped them together, the pungent aroma a badge of durian honor.
Popped them in our mouths, savoring the familiar, funky sweetness.
Pin watched with delight, her laughter echoing off the colorful stalls.
“See? Durian magic, right?” she teased. I beamed, a full-fledged durian grin.
Maybe durian candy wasn’t just for the brave, but for sharing the love
with a friend who spoke the same spiky, sweet fruit language.
Back at the lobby, the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows.
We shared the lychee, sticky juice staining our fingers a vibrant red.
Not bad for a Tuesday.
Maybe this city, this life, wasn’t so bad after all, with a friend by your side,
sharing some stolen sweetness under the Chiang Mai sky.