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Parallelogram #1

It was a bright and early morning. The light of the rising sun pierced through the small window in the bedroom and its orange dagger-like beam sliced across my eyelids, which caused me to squeeze them more tightly to fend off the new morning. That is, until I could not ignore the light any longer and I opened my eyes and grimaced.

It seemed earlier than I would like, but, "What the hell, lets get this sh*t rolling." I muttered under my breath as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and onto the floor.

I could feel the sand and grit on the floor of the unkempt room underfoot, and glancing sideways, I could see my leather boots splayed askew over near the archway of the door of the bedroom. Running my hand down my face, through my moustache and beard, I yawned deeply and glanced behind me at the still form laying in the other half of the bed. Reaching back, I slapped at the area of the blanket covering her rump. She groused slightly, kicking one of her feet at me, still too drunk to actually awaken even with the bright light.

I stood, and haltingly staggered/walked out of the bedroom down the hall, looking for the bathroom. Just as I was passing through the archway, I turned around and grabbed my jeans, underwear, shirt and jacket, then once again staggered into the hallway looking for the bathroom. I desperately needed to take a leak.

Finally, I locate the sought after bathroom and toss my clothing over the rim of the tub. Taking aim, I begin to relieve myself. As my bladder empties itself of the whiskey and beer of the evening before, I glance sideways into the mirror above the small sink. The trim ring around the mirror was rusty and much of the mirror itself was slick with film and grime, but it was still easy to see how unkempt I had become. My beard and moustache were quite bushy, thick, and dense, and even my eyebrows seemed to have grown heavier and more disheveled. I had drifted far from the rather groomed and professorial look I had maintained for so many years. I didn't really give a damn.

Turning away from the toilet, I bend over the sink and splash a few handfuls of water into my face, shaking my face from the shocking coldness. Quickly, I put on my underwear, jeans and shirt, and walk out of the bathroom, hoping I am going to find the kitchen.

The smell permeated my nostrils before I even entered the kitchen. The garbage pail had not been emptied for a few days, and the sink was piled high with dirty dishes. I open up the cupboards. Several of them are empty, or with a salt shaker, or a few cans of Campbell's soup. Finally, I hit pay dirt, a nearly empty jar of instant coffee. I gingerly reach into the pile of dishes in the sink and pull out a dirty mug and turned on the water to attempt to rinse out the worst of the grime. I then fill the mug with water and pour in the last remaining crystals of instant coffee from the jar. Opening the door of the microwave, I put in the mug and turn it on for 2 minutes.

I sit down at the table and reach into a side pocket of my leather jacket that I had thrown across the tabletop. I pull out my pipe and pack its bowl with leaf both gingerly because of my aching head, but also hungrily. I quickly fire up the bowl, melding flame and leaf and inhale deeply, the rich, heavy, and harsh smoke. Its chalky, sooty feel fills my lungs and the glorious nicotine soon is rushing through my arteries into my brain. The pleasure is enormous.

As soon as the buzzer on the microwave rings, I pull out the cup of steaming coffee and nearly gulp the hot liquid in a matter of moments, in an effort to get the caffeine flowing.

The thought of food is rather nauseating, even if the kitchen would have been clean, so I walk back to the bedroom. She is still out like a light, and I grab my boots, sit on the edge of the bed, pipe in my mouth, and strap on each heavy boot. I look back at her still form, and give her a brief, mock salute. I then turn and walk out of the bedroom, pick up my jacket on my way out the door, and head out to the driveway.

The door slams, a rough, cheap aluminum sound as it hits the frame. I walk over to my bike. I straddle this trusty stead, fire up the engine and drive off to my next conquest.

PipeTobacco