City of Singles Read Free Page A

card’s memory was full, but it was just a version conflict. Finally the game starts and I’m eager to forget this morning.
    An extra hard finger, rigid with purpose to push on plastic squares, moving myself through the virtual world. The anticipation has me focused like a Zen Master trying to catch a fly with chopsticks. I move around the wall of a castle represented by pixels on a glowing rectangle. This is my life, sighing to myself in my head. Excitement drops once the characters with facial textures replaced are found. Ugly noses too big to look real, the ears don’t line up right.
    The tits are too big on this orc bandit.
    I don’t even hit escape, an alt-tab and right click ends my digital escape.
    Bed.

2 No Sunset
    Ash grey clouds roll and flatten out over a bruise purple sky. Old fashioned Gastown streetlights above lengths of black chain, dividing street from sidewalk. These voyeuristic white orb sentinels peer out into the night while damp links reflect a pale luminance through gloom. A flapping of fabric is barely audible over the din of wind, smothering what could be soft tapping of small raindrops.
    She stands in the street with her black hair pressed against her face, rising up and obscuring her eyes with each gust. The half block stare-down ends when she turns away, stepping deep into the misty veil ahead. Pursuit. Willpower. Taking the hardest step of my life. That single footfall turns into many, legs burning and shaking with each step. Further into the thick of the fog, time gets lost too. Her figure shimmers in the distance, raven hair curling, tossed by currents. The world glides under me slower than test results on a late train, her languid pace matching my own.
    Old brick stones shine rain slick, reflecting an increasing glow of flickering neon. The left storefronts hold torn awnings, shadows cradle untouchable strewn garbage.
    Discarded underwear.
    Wadded up napkins.
    Old newspapers.
    Peeling paint greys and boarded up doorways. These dirty abandoned places used to hold people together seeking some commonality. Low throbbing bass rumbles in the distance. The street keeps pulling me along. New stores full of gyrating, naked women cloaked in neon pinks and reds. Gentrification for the gentleman’s soul.
    Slogans promise release. They blow kisses at me, dancing seductively they press their asses against the glass and spread their cheeks wide. Turning my head like trying to twist steel with muscles of warm butter. She’s walking away from me, followed by a gossamer shroud of vapors, a dark and mystic wedding train.
    Malevolent bass begins to drown out my thoughts. It’s impossible to tell if my legs are moving me forward, or if my world is in undertow. Out of the grey soup ahead, she steps around a dark figure. Drawn closer to it, I’ve lost sight of her, slamming bass jarring every ounce of flesh and bone.
    A motionless obelisk.
    Not until I’m almost walking into it can I recognize what it is, a three meter high stack of beer bottles in coffin shape. Brown and glossy, thousands of little glimpses of my life fill each bottle.
    A new girl in my life.
    Going to a party.
    Being sick after.
    Fucking some pretty girl.
    Cashing a paycheque.
    Getting high.
    Discovering.
    Learning.
    Laughing.
    Having fun.
    Being carefree.
    Being miserable.
    Being broke.
    Being alone.
    I can’t stop myself from crashing head first into the stack.
    A single crack is heard, followed by silence, a roar of shattered glass crashing to the street. Stunned eyes shut while staggering a few steps, anticipating the blackout. Sounds of countless social memories blare from everywhere around me, the echos reverberating down endless city blocks and becoming part of the dream DJ’s mix.
    Eyes open.
    I’m standing in the middle of a four-way intersection, brown shards of bottle form a crater of smashed glass around me. Dancing nude girls move seductively while backlit in pink, they fill every window of oppressive grey skyscrapers