There will be no sequel after this. Mark my words. The old man shut up, grabbed his cane and walked away heading back into the desert. It was becoming dark, and I wondered if I'll ever understand that old kook's words of wisdom before it was too late. Tonight, I told myself will be a good night's sleep. It wasn't, for the more part, I tossed and turned, finding no comfort in a comfortable bed that no one found more comfortable than me. My mind was filled with poison, I starred at the swirling fan above, it moved so fast and yet it made little noise, it was one of those modern conveniences you don't realize until moments like this, when everything is disturbance. I can hear that damn dog across the street, it's barking again, dark images flash in my head, then the street light reigns into my room, like it always does every night but tonight it was unbearable. When the morning came I found peace then in knowing there were fourteen good hours to spend, that they had no value and as I took my shower I started to sing Just Like Paradise. I got out, put the running shoes on, listened to Bob Marley on the run, and I felt further and further from last night's sleep. I cut through Fort York, a historical site just behind the building I live in, and I realize it is still very much summer, that notion, automatically, made everything that much better. I dreaded the thought of the cold winter ahead, feeling the cold from last winter hit me, I realize I biked in some of the most ridiculous conditions, and now that I stepped away from it I realized how insane I was. I decided to think of lighter things, warmer things, thoughts of winter are forbidden on times like these. I looked ahead, smiled, I couldn't help it, I felt great.
With no work today I decided to write a few letters, I took the old typewriter out and started to click away. The sound reminded me of when I had a curfew on typing in a place I lived in as a student, nowadays I just typed freely, but it made me realized I wasn't so into it anymore, I just used it because I didn't want to buy another printer ever again in my life. When I typed, I thought of what to say just seconds before I typed, I was trying to keep up with my fingers, and that's one thing I like about typewriters, you can't type fast, therefore your thoughts are more concentrated.
A flash came across me, it was from months prior, when I was at home, visiting my parents. My dad asked me to come along with him to see him skate, I was reading a book, and knew I had to do some work on the computer, I didn't feel like bringing all my things there, I was too warped up. In retrospect, I regret that, it wasn't one of those moments you realize you will regret it when it is happening, but one of those moments that take time to give you that turn in the guts, I wish I could have done it differently. I remember writing a paper on regrets in my first year of university, I was all philosophical then, starting off the paper saying I had no regrets, that every decision was made the way it was supposed to be, it was preconceived, I felt freewill, and did what felt right or within my ability at the time, but it was all an illusion. I look back, and see myself today, writing that same paper. Regrets, what I didn't do with my father was one of them, another one was now changing the course of time, making distances harder to bare, and setting two hearts on fire. Of course I didn't have this ability, but the thought lingered, I could have done more, with fun and smiles, I could have been less timid. I wondered why I hesitated, the moment was barely there, but it was there, and yet I let it slip by, waiting for some sort of sign, usually the right eye contact, but that rarely happens. When things are going so well, why change them I told myself, but there again, the timidness spoke. I looked down at myself in that memory, covered in dirt, laughing, I couldn't even see through my glasses.
Often the universe is in place for us, that everything is in the right place at the right time, and we don't realize it. We see the things happening now, and as the universe plays a cosmetic-scale magic trick we are focused on the slight of hand, looking to his left while his right hand is doing all the work. With our eyes adverted we never see the carpet slip from under our feet, and we fall, or our watch is temporarily stolen, that is our card, and the rabbit that had disappeared moments before which vanished from the universe is still alive and is in front of our eyes. Trying to make sense of this magic trick is puzzling, if not maddening, and to put the stick down and stop examining the dead body that washed up we'd be better off not knowing, not trying to figure out the universe let alone our lives, there are things that happen that make absolutely no sense in the scheme of things, that they are meant to throw us off, only to remind us that we are trying too hard to figure it all out. I take my shirt off, then I drop trou, I throw my body into bed and land in the exact spot I had planned to. Will I dream or will I not, will I find sleep or will I linger, linger, find dark circles of the universe, and fall into them until I find sleep. It doesn't matter, the day will always end, and the night will come, and then the day will be born again, and with or without us it will keep on happening like this, over and over and over and over and over and over and over again. It keeps on going on and on and on and on. Strangers. Avenues. Streetlights. Midnight train. Going. Anywhere.