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Friday night, I remember the day so vaguely like I do with everything now a days. Maybe it is the stress, or the fact that I am getting old. I am sixty-five. I just sit here in this old room, thinking of my forgotten youth. What most I can remember. I remember the first time I met the girl I laid in my bed. Her name was Eleanor, she was this tall beautiful girl. Her hair was brown, big brown eyes, and soft medium light skin.
I met her on the field, the sun was shining bright that day. I was with my buddies, most whom are dead now. Don't know lost touch with them after I moved to this city here. Her walk was as sensual as she later proved to be. She was way ahead of me, so I ran, just to catch up to her. I called her out.
"Hey?" She ignored me.
"Hey miss?"
"Yes?"
"How you doing this fine afternoon?" She looked annoyed.
"Fine, I must leave you, I'm in such a rush." With that I stayed back, and watched her go. I can't remember, how we ended up in bed, but I do know that night after that.
I lit a cigarette, and opened a bottle of whisky. Her eyes seemed dim. I remember asking her why. All she said was that the next day she was going to move to a new town. She never said what the name was. Then, she grabbed her clothes, put them on, and left. I was dumbfounded by this. I sat down next to my windowsill, and saw her weave through the shadows, she did not want anyone to see her. Well this was understandable.
Now I sit here in this dump of a room. Medicine everywhere, and dust collecting on the photograph's I have of people I can rarely remember. I look out the window now, and i see people walking below me. Carrying shopping bags, taking their children, and a sort of array of things. The air is stale, and I have run out of coffee. These are my last dying days, in about a week, I will enter a daycare center for the old. And this terrifies me, so much. I wonder how they will treat me.
My biggest fear is dying in a bed, where a stranger has already died before. I fear they will ration what I will eat. Ah! these truly are my dying days. Yesterday, I was walking through the park, and something horrid happened.
Some young man came up to me. He said to me, "Give me your money, old man." Frighten of course, I was frozen still. He repeated his demand again. I of course gave him my money. I did not report it, why? Because the police won't do anything. And also, the city is big, when will they find him?
Oh look at the time, I must go get the pills, to rid of this pain I feel. I think I will up the intake for today. Maybe five pills will do.
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