Sunday, August 12


Vol. 1 
By: Anagram Davis

It amazes me how reality is never in line with expectations. It was believed, that it be an ordinary Friday night of music and dance. But it was everything but ordinary.

We found ourselves underneath an architectural beauty. Beneath levels of concrete and marble.
An estuary enclosed by the noisy and busy city. Here, the rhythm and bass of blues and soul reverberated around the room, whispers and occasional intoxicated exclamations hop onto the intimate gaps between the little collective of such a paradoxical crowd.

Tonight was no ordinary night. And it deserved from us nothing less than spontaneity and dare. When the only hindrance from a dream is one's own inhibition. Partner in crime at hand, we took on an oath. Aliases in place. A charade of play pretend. That's the funny thing about playing a pretense - who can tell you this isn't the real you? Poisons within reach and the sound of music palpitating through the arterial tunnel and to the meandering veins giving one the truest auditory orgasm, we were ready. I'm ready.

"Hey!" She called out as she caught my eye from a distance.

Stunned, I fumbled for words. Here he is, in front of me. Waiting. Waiting for me to utter those first few words of introduction. The beacon that only very few men acknowledge. That subtle and simple chivalry of speaking second. Quickly, as I gather myself, my friend was already there on a life boat. She must've seen the struggle in my eyes. Bless her.

"Guys, this is my friend Brooke."
And in that fraction of a second, I remembered. We had aliases. Fuck.
Remembering this detail seemed to help.
"Hi my name is Brooke, nice to meet you... Yea I live here... Oh yeah.... Architecture... "

Everything. Every imaginary detail came out of me as if I were painting a picture of my life and before me was an eager canvas. Tonight, that theatre we all play, that running joke that is also called our life, was playing my biggest part. And everyone was a spectator, but only one mattered - the one audience standing in front of me. I wasn't lying - I simply decorated the facts with ornaments and perfume, wrapped it in brown paper and a nice ribbon to finish.

Everything that came after this and before the finale of the night was both a blast and a blur.

And to this day, this dreary sunless Monday, I can only say that nothing good comes out of playing games. And that phrase 'What a small world!', No. Its a fucking huge world. And sometimes, a great night is best kept in that moment. The moment you seize and let go. Its important to keep it natural. Because one day, these moments... will collide.

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