Tom lives in a small apartment. A near perfect square containing all of his worldly possessions. It’s a single room. A loft, that’s what this type of apartment is called. Tom’s bike hang on the wall near the door over a entry way table that also serves as a T.V. stand and book case.
His bed is pressed against the far wall to the left of the small kitchenette, which is comprised of a single oven burner and a half sized refrigerator built into the wall.
The single window in the apartment has never been washed from the outside and the light that passes through it is gray. The view through this window is filled by the apartment building across the street, an identical building with dirty windows full of hofts.
Tom walks to work down a busy street. People on the street don’t talk to each other, they simply gaze into cell phone displays that flash and sparkle brightly colored nothings.
Once at work Tom sits in a black swivel chair and stares at a computer screen. He doesn’t actually do anything. He doesn’t type or click, or move much for that matter. He simply sits.
He used to type and click but he grew tired of it and slowed down over time. Eventually he noticed that he no longer did anything but stare at his screen and for a moment was concerned that he would lose his job, and so tried to click and type again but found that he had forgotten what he did at the job. He counted back the days and weeks since he had clicked or typed and found that it had been years.
Tom stood up and looked around the office. He couldn’t remember the last time he had done so, but he remembered it being different. The office was dusty and spider webs hung from the light fixtures. His co-workers, strangers really, sat motionless and stared at their own screens. They did not click or type, they sat and they stared.
Tom became nervous and asked the director of operations if he could go home early.
“Hello director. Can I go home early?”
“Hello. Did you get your work done?”
Tom paused. “Yes.”
“Sign the time off request and adjust…” The director trailed off until he too sat motionless, staring into his screen.
Tom left the office and looked around the street outside of his office building. All the cars were yellow taxis and none of them moved. They sat idling along the curb, their drivers watching the flashes and sparkles of their cell phone displays.
The sound of the street was different once he paused to listen. The absence of voices surprised Tom. All that could be heard was the steps of people going to and coming from work, the sound of the taxis idling along the curb, and loudest of all, the doors of buildings opening and closing.
Then somewhere far of in the distance came a new sound. Tom walked toward the sound. He passed several tall buildings and worried he would become lost. He approach the mouth of an ally and followed the sound, coming to a small green door.
The sound was strange and Tom didn’t feel safe. He looked up and down the ally, checking to see if anyone was watching.
Beyond the door was darkness mixed with multi colored flashes, rhythmic bodies contorted in sexul osillations, black leather reflected glowing fog, bassy impact vibrated his chest and his muscle twitch with the desire to dance through the masses of free souls that cheered as a band of barbarian youth hammered out elaborate tones. Long black hair whipped through the air and white teeth flashed in freely displayed smiles. Sweat form glowing beads on muscular bodies. Old men raised their hands as if in worship and laughing children ran through the crowd like wild animals with their mothers chasing after, miming dreamscape monsters. Quiet men played chess at furious speeds and cheer to their victories and losses, throwing their glasses into the air. Sculptor joined the chorus with jackhammers, carving out masterpieces to the rhythm of the song. Priests blessed the dancers with holy water, spinning like dervishes deep in a blissful trance.
Tom closed the door and walked home. He slept. The next morning he went to work.
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