“You are delusional.”
“Am I? I might be. Is it a sin? I’ve seen life and it is nothing but liquid broth. You swallow it on empty stomach and it leaves you with nothing but bad aftertaste. On the other hand, its fumes seep into your veins and it is impossible to shake them off. Therefore, I choose to be delusional, as you call it.”
“Have you been drinking?”
“I have, don’t you like it? You tag me as a lyrical hero, yes, don’t be bashful; I see it in your eyes. Well, what hero am I, if I don’t have an obnoxious side?”
“I don’t find you obnoxious at all…”
“…Not from a side, no from the top or bottom, not in the cross-section…yes, I know, I’ve been told. You, mate, are pure to the point of banality. One can go to sleep while conversing with you about something that does not touch music. Don’t throw daggers, it was a compliment. I’d rather talk about music than anything else. What year is it?”
“It’s 1988.”
“That makes me 20. If it were 1888, I’d have a rosy mouth and cheeks, as well as cold fingers. I’d scribble poetry quietly and I’d praise the midnight wind, while hiding my eyes for most of the daylight. Yet it is 1988, and I’ve been soaked in alcohol fort at least three days and I don’t care who sits on my lap anymore. Is it evolution, do you reckon?”
“Atavism.”
“Yes. So I am good to go on the pages of biology books. I shall advertise. I’ll make a fortune and then spend it on self-degradation. Join me, will you? Not as a companion in my fall, but as an angel, a contrast to my sinful life. We’ll travel the world and people will throw rotten cabbage at me while laying roses by your feet.”
“You are out of your mind.”
“So that’s a no? A breezy brush-off? I understand, there are better men and better offers. Go on then, my farewells to you. I’ll pay for your milk.”
“And what if I say yes?”
“I’ll make you go. I’m a degenerate, but I love beauty, and as a true admirer I dare not consume it. You see, I have a belief that if I touch you, I’ll burn my skin.”
“You say you are rotten to the core, yet I see healthy flesh under the faintest veneer of your claims.”
“You are yet to peel me. But it was your first fully spoken thought of the evening, and I say, cheers to that.”
“You interest me.”
“I interest many.”
“I want to know what you are like with a clearer head.”
“On those occasions I’m bitter and my lips are two thin lines.”
“I’m sure, I’ll be fascinated.”
“See my calendar, then, and make an appointment. Those days are rare.”
“No need. I’ll see you every day from now on.”
“By all rules, it’s me who must follow you around.”
“It is 1988.”
“Ah. I always forget…your hand is upon mine. You take it and bring it to your lips. Beware, my skin might poison you.”
“I’ll adapt to poison and it’ll become a part of me.”
“You are delusional.”
“Yes. Now there are two of us.”
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