Rose. Part 2.

He set a house on fire once. And danced he did in the one of the empty rooms in that same house while it was on fire. Edwardo wished that moment could freeze into a chronological ice block so that he could keep it in his fridge. His fridge which is at the moment not working due to ignorance for any type of machine. He hates machines. They always breakdown. “The thing about machines is you can never depend on them because someday they will let you down,” he would tell his friends in a life advice-sharing session a.k.a when getting high in his room on Coke and Absolut Vodka.

That is why today, Edwardo is having sunny side ups and toast without yogurt because the fridge is broken and the yogurt had already turned bad the night before that day. The day nothing in his life changed. Just like every other day. He feels nothing for her right now because truth is he had already moved on and thought that she moved on as well. So, he goes onto her Facebook regularly to like her updates genuinely due to the brevity of each of her updates. He doesn’t miss her at all. He misses his yogurt now and he is trying to move on from the notion of not having it this morning. In his shower robe, he finishes his fried eggs in two huge swallows and looks down at his metal plate. He examines his own reflection on the metal plate and scratches his dry scalp. Then he plays with his curly hair by twisting it in his own finger just because it is long enough for him to do that.

“Damn, I need a haircut. Maybe I will get it cut today.”

He didn’t get it cut that day. The reason? While looking at his plate he realized it is going to clean itself up so he brought it to the sink where he would leave it there for two to three hours before convincing his own hygienic conscience to clean it up. After two and a half hours, he goes to the sink but realizes there is no more detergent to use. He looks out the window where the sunlight is dripping on the road below his apartment like golden paint over an art jar and decides to go to the convenience store to buy some. But this can’t be done without a scooter which he had lent to his pizza-making friend two days ago as he needed to experiment with delivery techniques. Although he could have gone to the convenience store on foot, a twinge of deep concern compels him to get the scooter back first before his friend becomes the owner of it by default (as in before Edwardo forgets about it forever).

The golden hour was about to arrive and the taxis and bicycles parked along the road starts to gleam with soft, golden light. Some crows flew across the small, separated clouds above him and being afraid of falling victim to a shitbomb he instinctively covers his head with his bathrobe covered arms. As expected, he caught a few derogatory glances from the few people he walked pass while on his way to his destination. An Indian waiter in green spectacles pops up and greets him with an enthusiastic ‘Hello there!’. Edwardo, still in his bathrobe and looking unkempt as ever stares at him for a few stifling seconds and then releases his words from his mouth ever so loudly in a Batman voice. “Where is he?!” Wide eyed and utterly shocked, the waiter’s enthusiasm fades away and vanishes into thin air and he could only manage a quiet one-word reply.

“Who?”

“You know who!” Again saying these words in a hoarse Batman voice. “Just joking man. Where is Ken? I need my scooter back from him”

The waiter feels relieved and regains his composure after witnessing Edwardo’s antics. He sighs heavily and blinks his eyes contemptuously at Edwardo and proceeds to point at the direction of the green door behind the counter.

“I’ll get him for you, it’s okay. You don’t have to come behind the counter.”

“Oh.. thanks.”

“No problem,” he pushes the green door open and mutters something indecipherable only to Edwardo as it was too soft for him to let his ears grasp on it. It was actually “No problem, dick.”

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