There was a guy in the bar straight out of a magazine, flexing his muscles to all the girls fancying a taste of his ne’er-do-well meat. Everyone was out of a magazine. One of those free ones they give away with Sunday’s newspapers. They performed on a stage on which I had no part to play and so I spent most of the time outside smoking cigarettes as those around me did their thing. They were chatty. Casual. They mingled and marvelled at stuff I had little interest in, and the stuff I had an interest in was left to whistle in the wind. To override my nausea at such tedious endeavours, I ordered a round of sambucas. And then a few more after that. I drank so much that my insides burned as if set alight. Such an eraser of dignity and memories, but I’ll never learn. Hours passed in the blink of an eye. There were pockets of joy to be found, but eventually, I made good my escape and moved through a crowd of flesh without anyone noticing. The wind and rain attacked me like bats with teeth as I fled through parking lots and down alleys only a local would know. The world spun like a coin. It hypnotized me like a pair of legs adorned in black tights crossing and then uncrossing beneath a table in a sushi bar. I thought of the Zodiac and how he fled from the scene of his crimes, concealing his weapon as well as a rock-hard erection. Perhaps he was stroking himself off as he spoke to the police on the phone informing them of his dastardly deeds. Perhaps he enjoyed sambucas too. Returning to mine, I drank wine while sprawled on the floor. Searching for meaning as I gazed at the ceiling, what I found instead were the smoke stains of a thousand yesterdays where procrastination always seemed to get the better of me.