tick…tick…tick…tick… he races a clock on his mind. The sounds of the of the whistling wind kiss his ear… but its hard for him to notice. He is counting the rhythmic intervals on his mind- trying hard to equalize them with the actual seconds. He matches his footsteps with the ticks – slow steady steps. He’s been walking for the past fifteen minutes.

Today was a bad day. He doesn’t seem to know why… but he’d had this feeling from the time he awoke this morning. A heavy heart, an occupied mind. He had to hear a thing twice to understand it. So, with his friends annoyed, he just thought he’d better not ask anymore. He just laughed at the jokes, ie. if the others laughed – blankly.

Tick… tick… tick…tick… he matches his footsteps with the intervals on his mind. The road is empty, but still, he walks steadily… slow, steady steps. Looks like he’s floating. Hands in the pocket, shoulders a little stooped and eyes down on the road… he walks along… A car passes by, but he doesn’t seem to notice. The head lights reveal his square face, dark, long hair – uncombed, falling over his forehead, and strong long chin. He’s wearing a black jacket and jeans and an old converse shoes. The car passes by, but he keeps his head down… as if he’s walking in a dream.

He reaches a park now. Couples, walk around hand in hand, groups of college boys laughing and smoking cigarettes, and some policemen sitting on the benches – talking. Maybe they are too confident that nothing will happen in this silent night. They might be talking about the girls sitting in the cafe opposite the road – smiling at them.

The house he’s staying is just on the other side of the park. A place he’d rented two years ago. A single room on the ground floor and that’s all. He always had this feeling that someone would be waiting for him on that room but no one would be there. Today he’s in no hurry. There’s a path in the park, a shortcut, but he decides to go around it.

A little ahead, there’s a cafe where he comes for a smoke and a drink when he’s lonely. He decides to go there. Smiles at the owner – a wry, painful smile, and sits on the chair on the farthest corner – his favorite place. Tick…tick…tick…tick… the clock’s still running on his mind. He looks around – people are drinking, talking, smoking, laughing, smiling, waving hands, shouting. A tear runs down his cheeks and hangs on his chin. Tick… tick… tick… he’s still counting the intervals. Drip… drip… drip…drip… dark red fluid fall on the floor from his trousers. He can feel the wetness of his soaked shirt now. “Fucking junkies!!” – he breathes out these words before falling on the table.

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