I like to ride the city bus to the outskirts of town. Where the buildings become lower to the ground, and smokestacks begin to sprout up from the mal nourished earth. The sky is dark out in that area, it is an industrial wasteland out there, yet somehow I feel so at home. One day, 152 Outlook Circle, from a company that produced copper, a group of four or so, gritty workers boarded the bus. I was immediately bombarded with the scent of oil and sweat. Overwhelmed by a wave of testosterone. They took their seats near the driver, sitting at least an arms length away from eachother. One in particular struck my fancy. He wasn’t exactly an attractive man, I suppose if I was to describe him at any lengths I would say he was exotic. When I looked at his almost flat face began to think about what his skull would look like. How would his face look with all the skin peeled away? Not bloody, but clean, polished. A skull that one might see sitting on a shelf in a study. I traced the outline of his face with my eyes, his wide flat cheekbones, and the large bridge of his nose, right down to almost non-descript jaw bone. He opened his mouth to show an array of jagged brown teeth. Gnarled and rotten. They made me think about Thomas. Though I promised myself he was extracted from my memory I couldn't help but think about his rotten teeth, he was so European, without having left the continent in his life. I had been picturing the man's disembodied head for some time when I began to notice his eyes on me. He wasn’t talking to his comrades; he seemed to realize I had singled him out of the group. His gaze made me panic, I figured he must be some kind of psycho, an adulterer. I was sure he probably had a wife and children at home, a family that sat down to dinner looking like a Norman Rockwell piece. I immediately averted my stare. I wondered about him, maybe he had no family at all, maybe he went home each night to a dark, empty apartment and a cat. Maybe he was a lonely guy. I wasn’t sure which scared me more. I pretended to be focusing on something invisible in my lap, I imagined a conversation that might take place between the two of us, he would ask me if I lived around here, I would say no, trying to remain as anonymous as I possibly could. Maybe he would introduce himself at which point I would answer with a witty remark such as "oh that’s nice, I'm miserable" something smooth, yet impersonal. The bus had rounded back into city limits, a neighborhood I had never noticed before, I usually sat on the right side of the bus, and there fore I seemed to only notice the right side of the street. This neighborhood was across from a series of fast food joints and hokey family restaurants. The houses were small and low to the ground, most were wood paneled surrounded by tiny iron fences. Everyone who lived there seemed to own trucks. I saw my subject reached for the cord, this was his stop. I wanted to follow him. I knew I shouldn’t, I wasn’t going to, but before I knew it I was on the street, tracing the footsteps of my mysterious stranger. It became a game to me. I found entertainment in walking a fair distance behind him, sometime I would even dart behind trees and trashcans as to avoid him seeing me. Sometimes he would stop, and look around him. I was almost sure the top of my head was showing over the brown recycling bin, but like a child, I craved his attention. Soon he started turning round and seeing my face, he would shake his head and smile. I continued to follow him, several blocks through the strange neighborhood, he soon crossed over a park, where all the grass was yellow and a nearly dry creek ran through the center surrounded by massive clumps of cat tails, and a rickety wooden bridge connected both parched banks. In the distance, out of nowhere I began to notice two high rise apartment buildings, they were brick, complete with fire escapes and close lines which ran from one building to the other. It was like something one might see in Sesame Street. He turned back again, smiling like an idiot. It was then I laughed, strange maniacal laughter, nothing like my own. It scared me. I took a moment to breathe. Leaning over with my hands on my knees. When I looked up I saw that he had already left the park and was far ahead, I began to run to catch up, I ran until we reached the apartments where he stopped abruptly, perhaps to confront me, I stopped several feet behind to catch my breath beneath a second floor balcony. I panted, my mouth open, my tongue hanging out like a tiger. He was staring at me without blinking now. He took a step towards me and my hands went numb. I couldn't run now, my lungs were tired. Our conversation went very much how I had imagined it. He told me that he lived in the building and invited me up for a drink of some sort. I was hesitant, I looked around me first, contemplating the outcome. After I short while I decided I really had nothing to loose anyway. The building's elevator was broken so we took the stairs. They were mundane gray concrete stairs and every level looked exactly the same as the last, until I completely forgot why we were on them in the first place. He lived on the 5th floor down a long hallway coated with crusty burgundy carpet. He lived in apartment 1B. The number on his door hung crooked on its hinges, giving it an authentic big city feeling. He opened the door, and flicked on the light switch. His apartment was nothing like what I had expected. Within the spacious white room there was a colorful postmodern sofa and many obscure lamps of which seemed to make no sense dynamically. His modern kitchenette, with streamline silver appliances practically made my mouth water. We drank brandy and feasted upon his leftover turkey dinner. He smiled at me over his glass with his rugged teeth. I laughed loudly, wincing as I bit down on my cheek. I tasted blood.
fin.