Night Approaching
why do i feel like i’m really living in a bubble?
And why do I always wish that may this bubble burst?
(We are living our lives inside a bubble) (the bubble burst) (coldplay playing)
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I wore a cold navy blue tie with a pattern of grape leaves, a white Marks & Spencer shirt, and a second-hand lucky Seiko watch. Then I drove myself to Malcolm Hall and discussed Hemingway, Stalingrad, Waterloo, The Beatles and another law school with a panel of three lawyers.
After that, I smoked two packs of Marlboro Lights, had talks with friends and blockmates, lunched with the cronies, and cried without tears in my room. My cries were drowned by the sound of my Condura Silentia.
That night, it rained and I tried to wait for her, just in case parents would not show up to pick her up. After waiting for what seemed like an eternity, I went home alone. My mind was thinking of a dear friend who’s leaving soon, the interview results which would determine my future, the fate of Scofield and Burrows, the whereabouts of the one I was waiting for, and The Beatles. The freakin fab four.
‘Mr. Castillo, there is no room for the Beatles in the UP COllege of Law.’
Death looms. I am almost done for, I am not even yesterday’s banner news. Just maybe about last decade’s cheapest obituary.
Maybe I think too much. I remember too much. I am still trying to believe in the apparently false idea that I am not mediocre, that I am one grain of salt better than many others. I am so used to attention and solitude at the same time. I want the world to go crazy looking for me while I am all by myself in an undiscovered cave with a six pack of beer and a box of cigarettes. The Beatles playing on the stereo and a Hemingway beside me.
I don’t know what to do now. All of a sudden I am lost. Really.
