Bumps in the road let my body know I’m traveling. To where at this juncture, remains to be seen. Definitely not awake by any standards, but I know when I’ve been hurting. Semi-coherent noises start to reach me from the ether; the radio, expletives from the front seat and the constant pounding sounds of a horn tuned like a banshee from hell.
My good eye flickers and the world comes into view. A cab, of course. The driver is yelling at me in a language uncommon to my ears. He seems pissed nonetheless. Keeps gesturing to something on my front, while attempting to drive like a rational being. I look down at the bloody mess below my neck. Stabbed? On a Tuesday night. It’s deep. I feel an uneasy tickle from my spine. Could be shock, could be giddiness, probably both.
My red mess has found it’s way onto my hands, the door and the already putrid seat. Not in good shape. I ask him to calm the fuck down, to no avail. He will not hear a word of it tonight. No, not tonight. At least he could change the station.
We continue to weave through the night via the congested streets. A smoke…eureka! The cure to all life’s ills. I fumble for my pocket, the fingers tremble as does my resolve. The blood has turned black. Here comes the bile and alas, no smokes for me. Not a single one. Night is ruined.
“St James Infirmary, my good man”.
My head slumps back onto the headrest. My eyes stare out. My, the night sky looks cluttered tonight.