Waking up this morning felt as weird as sleeping for a total of nine hours without nightmares or the constant beeping of his phone announcing someone who got arrested, tortured, raped or even killed and for once he felt this lightness of soul that he hadn’t experienced in at least two years.
He put on his cloths, packed his backpack and head to work, his downstairs neighbor wasn’t standing at his door practicing his daily hobby of asking about what he does for a life then fails to understand the answer every time after ranting for a whole fifteen minutes about the plumbing problems of the building and how men now look like women that he feels weirded out every time he leaves his house and ends it with some unfathomable spells that sounds like a prayer.
He rode the usual micro-bus after packing his heavy coat in the backpack. There was some warmth in the air of the city that died long ago and unleashed her daemons on the residents.
Sitting there and as his destination approached, he started collecting the voice he uses whenever asking the micro-bus driver to drop him off. The voice wasn’t there, it is that voice he shouted with during the protests and the one he wept with when his first friend was shot in front of his eyes.
He tried to recollect himself and asked the driver to stop, but it seemed like he is not heard anymore, even people sitting next to him couldn’t hear him, he poked the old bearded man sitting next to him but again nothing, he even slapped the front passenger on his bald head but no one noticed.
So he got out his pack of cigarettes, lit himself one as he started humming “What a night for a dance, you know I’m a dancing machine/With a fire in my bones and the sweet taste of kerosene/I get lost in the night so high I don’t want to come down/To face the loss of the good thing that I’ve found ….. oh ouhhhh ohhhhhhhhhhhh…
Z... space 