Hats of!
05-16-2009, 8:47 AM
Okay, this is a short story. It's about this guy, named Adam.
Adam likes cigarettes
Adam was sitting still by the bus stop. He sat on a bench, annoyed by the cold and uncomfortable wooden rods poking his bum. But this wasn’t Adams only issue – oh no. Adam had several problems with his life; just a small percentage of these concern this bloody bench.
He was wearing a suit, a tattered, torn and worn suit. The suit appeared to have died and later been reanimated to life. The suit was the Frankenstein’s Monster of suits, a grim crime against nature. Adam really didn’t care about his suit; after all, it’s only clothes.
His eyes wandered across the barren, asphalt-desert that surrounded the bus stop. The sun made the asphalt dangerously hot and almost glowing of red. He felt like an egg on a frying pan. His eyes took a turn at gazed upwards, birds sang happily up there. They almost looked like angels. But hell, that’s ridiculous – angels don’t exist.
He wanted a smoke. A cigarette. A cigarette would be a simple way to settle his needs. His hands searched their way towards his pocket and picked up the box of fags. Adam smiled; he managed to forget his misery just for a while. But his smile quickly turned into a frown, he couldn’t find a lighter.
“Fuck”, he said.
Adam swore - life is his nemesis. All of life circles around making him its bitch. That’s why he never (ever!) got anything the way he wanted.
“Need a light?” a foreign voice asked.
Adam inspected the stranger. He was wearing a tight black trench coat and an embarrassingly unfashionable pink hat.
“Yeah, thanks”, he answered.
The stranger proceeded and lit Adam’s cigarette.
“No problem”, the stranger said. “My name is Az, what’s yours?”
“I’m Adam. Sure your name’s Az?” Adam replied. “’Cause it sounds allot like ass”.
Az sat down besides Adam.
“Sadly, yeah. I’m sure”, he responded. “But one can’t help one’s name”.
Adam pondered about his newly found friend with a certain sense of curiosity. He seemed almost to be hollow. And he stunk; he stunk like a corpse filled with rotten eggs.
“Wanna play a game of chess?” Az asked.
“Uhm, what?” Adam uttered. “No… No I don’t want to play chess”.
“Good. I hate chess”, Az responded.
Adam cracked a smile. He always did during uncomfortable situations; it functioned as an emotional shield. Behind his smile he never had to show his true feelings, and in this case, he felt oddly odd and slightly nervous.
“Let me tell you about four of my acquaintances. They’re all truly great acquaintances. I almost certainly like them”, Az said. “We’re almost inseparable.”
Adam nodded; he didn’t know what to say.
“Mr. Hungrér is one of my oldest acquaintances. His name sounds like a mix between Hungary and hunger doesn’t it? It has one of those fancy lines over the e, so it’s sort of foreign. Anyway, he’s actually dead. He’s still my acquaintance though, but he’s dead. He died of starvation. You see, Hungrér was quite the eccentric man, and he was skinny. He didn’t like food, not at all, hence the skinniness. Not as if he had a ‘psychological disease’ or something, he just hated food. It weren’t useful he said. But this loathing of his led to his death. As I mentioned, he died of starvation. Actually, quite ironically, he died just outside of a McDonalds. I guess he was staring at the fat slobs within.”
“Sorry to hear that”, Adam said, a minor lie, he really didn’t care.
“It’s okay”, Az said. “It was quite a while ago now. And, even though this may seem unethical, he’s been replaced. Actually, he’s been replaced by an Arabic guy called Habib. He’s somewhat unpopular, I mean, with 9/11 and all. He’s always referred to as a terrorist. And because he drives a SUV he’s an environmental terrorist too. Poor guy. But as far as I know, he isn’t bitter at all.”
Adam sighed and scratched his chin.
“Yeah, racism is a bitch”, he said.
“Racism? Yeah, I guess you can call it racism”, Az responded with a sense of enlightenment. “Well, on the subject of terrorism, I have another acquaintance. We call him Double V. Why? Yeah, it’s a nickname we gave him after he claimed that he supported Bush’s war in Iraq. Like… Like we call him Double V because of the W in Bush’s name.”
“That’s clever”, Adam said. “Anyway, what about your fourth friend then?”
“Oh yeah, that’s Mr. Ulf. He’s from somewhere in Europe. Probably somewhere in that dirty eastern bloc, don’t know why exactly… I guess it’s because the fact that he gets sick so easily. I mean, those countries are poor an’ all, flu and stuff should thrive there. Although, I guess that’s racism too”, Az said.
Adam coughed. It’s the cigarettes fault. But Adam’s way too proud to quit, even though he know he should. He heard a buss coming in from the distance. Yep, it was his buss.
“Ah, well, that’s my buss”, he said and picked up his wallet.
“Sure… but before you go; what’s your last name?” Az asked.
“Uhm… It’s Mann”, Adam answered. “Yeah, Adam Mann, quite manly isn’t it? My parents are fucking sadists.”
“Mine’s Rael”, Az responded.
Adam cracked a smile, this time not as a shield, it was a genuine smile.
“Sounds like Real, doesn’t it?” He said. “Your name is real ass.”
Az stood up and walked away, leaving a box of cigarettes and a lighter on the bench. Adam was baffled. It wasn’t that insulting… right? Adam’s head turned towards the cigarettes and the lighter both of which he picked up. They were obviously meant for him; otherwise “real ass” wouldn’t have left them behind. Adam put one cigarette in his mouth and lit it. He then proceeded onto the buss; it was time to go home.
Adam likes cigarettes
Adam was sitting still by the bus stop. He sat on a bench, annoyed by the cold and uncomfortable wooden rods poking his bum. But this wasn’t Adams only issue – oh no. Adam had several problems with his life; just a small percentage of these concern this bloody bench.
He was wearing a suit, a tattered, torn and worn suit. The suit appeared to have died and later been reanimated to life. The suit was the Frankenstein’s Monster of suits, a grim crime against nature. Adam really didn’t care about his suit; after all, it’s only clothes.
His eyes wandered across the barren, asphalt-desert that surrounded the bus stop. The sun made the asphalt dangerously hot and almost glowing of red. He felt like an egg on a frying pan. His eyes took a turn at gazed upwards, birds sang happily up there. They almost looked like angels. But hell, that’s ridiculous – angels don’t exist.
He wanted a smoke. A cigarette. A cigarette would be a simple way to settle his needs. His hands searched their way towards his pocket and picked up the box of fags. Adam smiled; he managed to forget his misery just for a while. But his smile quickly turned into a frown, he couldn’t find a lighter.
“Fuck”, he said.
Adam swore - life is his nemesis. All of life circles around making him its bitch. That’s why he never (ever!) got anything the way he wanted.
“Need a light?” a foreign voice asked.
Adam inspected the stranger. He was wearing a tight black trench coat and an embarrassingly unfashionable pink hat.
“Yeah, thanks”, he answered.
The stranger proceeded and lit Adam’s cigarette.
“No problem”, the stranger said. “My name is Az, what’s yours?”
“I’m Adam. Sure your name’s Az?” Adam replied. “’Cause it sounds allot like ass”.
Az sat down besides Adam.
“Sadly, yeah. I’m sure”, he responded. “But one can’t help one’s name”.
Adam pondered about his newly found friend with a certain sense of curiosity. He seemed almost to be hollow. And he stunk; he stunk like a corpse filled with rotten eggs.
“Wanna play a game of chess?” Az asked.
“Uhm, what?” Adam uttered. “No… No I don’t want to play chess”.
“Good. I hate chess”, Az responded.
Adam cracked a smile. He always did during uncomfortable situations; it functioned as an emotional shield. Behind his smile he never had to show his true feelings, and in this case, he felt oddly odd and slightly nervous.
“Let me tell you about four of my acquaintances. They’re all truly great acquaintances. I almost certainly like them”, Az said. “We’re almost inseparable.”
Adam nodded; he didn’t know what to say.
“Mr. Hungrér is one of my oldest acquaintances. His name sounds like a mix between Hungary and hunger doesn’t it? It has one of those fancy lines over the e, so it’s sort of foreign. Anyway, he’s actually dead. He’s still my acquaintance though, but he’s dead. He died of starvation. You see, Hungrér was quite the eccentric man, and he was skinny. He didn’t like food, not at all, hence the skinniness. Not as if he had a ‘psychological disease’ or something, he just hated food. It weren’t useful he said. But this loathing of his led to his death. As I mentioned, he died of starvation. Actually, quite ironically, he died just outside of a McDonalds. I guess he was staring at the fat slobs within.”
“Sorry to hear that”, Adam said, a minor lie, he really didn’t care.
“It’s okay”, Az said. “It was quite a while ago now. And, even though this may seem unethical, he’s been replaced. Actually, he’s been replaced by an Arabic guy called Habib. He’s somewhat unpopular, I mean, with 9/11 and all. He’s always referred to as a terrorist. And because he drives a SUV he’s an environmental terrorist too. Poor guy. But as far as I know, he isn’t bitter at all.”
Adam sighed and scratched his chin.
“Yeah, racism is a bitch”, he said.
“Racism? Yeah, I guess you can call it racism”, Az responded with a sense of enlightenment. “Well, on the subject of terrorism, I have another acquaintance. We call him Double V. Why? Yeah, it’s a nickname we gave him after he claimed that he supported Bush’s war in Iraq. Like… Like we call him Double V because of the W in Bush’s name.”
“That’s clever”, Adam said. “Anyway, what about your fourth friend then?”
“Oh yeah, that’s Mr. Ulf. He’s from somewhere in Europe. Probably somewhere in that dirty eastern bloc, don’t know why exactly… I guess it’s because the fact that he gets sick so easily. I mean, those countries are poor an’ all, flu and stuff should thrive there. Although, I guess that’s racism too”, Az said.
Adam coughed. It’s the cigarettes fault. But Adam’s way too proud to quit, even though he know he should. He heard a buss coming in from the distance. Yep, it was his buss.
“Ah, well, that’s my buss”, he said and picked up his wallet.
“Sure… but before you go; what’s your last name?” Az asked.
“Uhm… It’s Mann”, Adam answered. “Yeah, Adam Mann, quite manly isn’t it? My parents are fucking sadists.”
“Mine’s Rael”, Az responded.
Adam cracked a smile, this time not as a shield, it was a genuine smile.
“Sounds like Real, doesn’t it?” He said. “Your name is real ass.”
Az stood up and walked away, leaving a box of cigarettes and a lighter on the bench. Adam was baffled. It wasn’t that insulting… right? Adam’s head turned towards the cigarettes and the lighter both of which he picked up. They were obviously meant for him; otherwise “real ass” wouldn’t have left them behind. Adam put one cigarette in his mouth and lit it. He then proceeded onto the buss; it was time to go home.