Startled by the jolts, Andre pushed his head back to prevent it from falling down. He opened his eyes, still heavy with sleep, and was relieved to know that he wasn’t falling off the cliff. He flung a punch on the wall, out of habit, and banged it several times. “Fuck off, man!” some one shouted back, followed by a female giggle. The jolts continued for few more minutes losing their intensity to a slow momentum till they came to a complete halt. He heard a muffled zipping sound followed by the slow thud. “Eres tan puta, eh!” the same voice whispered, and the giggling continued.
Andre sits up, separating his sweat drenched shirt from his skin. His whole body was aching like he took a good beating last night, which he didn’t, or perhaps he did but didn’t remember. He didn’t remember a lot of things only because he didn’t want to. He rested his face between his hands trying to stop the walls from blurring into each other. He sat like this for few minutes then placed his hands on the bed and tilted his head onto a side as if trying to push the pain in that direction. Failed, he finally got up and stumbling over a bag, or may be a box, made his way to the bathroom. Once there, he reached for the half -opened medicine cabinet, grabbed a bottle from the top shelf and popped two pills into his mouth. Dodging his own reflection in the mirror, he took off his sweaty shirt and tossed it on the side of bathroom tub. He found his way back just the way he came; only this time he managed without falling. He threw himself on the bed and tried going back to sleep, which he knew will come to him peacefully in next twenty to thirty minutes. All he had to do for those thirty minutes was not to feel the pain and pretend to be asleep. He has learned over the years that if you fake long enough it starts feeling like real.
“The next stop will be… Morris Park.” Living close to a subway is always a blessing especially in a busy place like New York. No long walks to get to the bus, no going in circles for hours for a parking spot. Just get out and get on the train, smooth sailing. Down side-the annoying noises that never allow you to feel at home. You always find yourself waiting for the next destination, constantly travelling in your head. An Andre woke up to the screeching sound of the train, and turned his head to reach for the alarm clock that would go off in next two hours. Involuntarily his hands brushed over his chest and he felt the back of his hand rubbing against the incision that ran across his body. He paused momentarily, resisting the temptation to feel it he rolled to a side and