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Shorts
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| Reflections of a Modern Man | |
| By alamo | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| 27 March 2007 | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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OK so this is based on a conversation my girlfriend actually had. Not sure how much I like this. Please let me know what you think. Cheers They are sat in a dilapidated bus-stop, graffiti-covered, smashed glass at their feet. His face is half-familiar: they’ve seen him around at Uni, parties, clubs. They’ve never been introduced, gotten to know him. But that was all about to change. Dave hummed along to his iPod, out of tune, smiling. He looked at the girls sitting next to him. Not bad, he thought, trying to store their images in his head for a later masturbatory fantasy. The things they would do, he thought. He tuned back into the music, started humming again. Fiona and Shannon chatted about mutual friends, bitching really, trying to ignore the atonal disfigurement of music that violated their ears. Dave reached into his long hair, scratched, and a white earphone fell down onto his chest. Tinny music escaped from the dangling earpiece. Grunge slopped out. Miniature guitars played a dirge. Something approaching singing floated around, sounding small. He turned to the girls. “You like it?” he said, pointing to his chest. For a second Fiona thought he meant his T-shirt, tight black with a witty slogan and a white skull. Shannon took it in, an opinion began to form in her mind. “Er… yeah. It’s alright,” said Fiona. “It’s my band.” “Oh… that’s cool,” said Shannon, wondering what kind of person would listen to their own music. “What are they called?” said Fiona. “My band? Ego-terrorist.” Shannon stifled a laugh. “You know, like eco-terrorist, but to do with the mind, the Ego, like Freud and that.” “It’s a good name,” said Fiona, smiling. “Yeah,” said Shannon. “Deep.” “Exactly,” he said. “I mean, we were called Evolution? You know, with a question mark, but the drummer thought it was pretentious. But I was well pleased when I made that up.” “Understandable,” said Fiona. “I mean, it’s really thought-provoking. Evolution?” Shannon thought, certainly provokes a few thoughts in me. “What do you play?” said Fiona. “Well, I’m singer-songwriter, and I play the guitar. I did play keyboards on a few tracks, but we thought, you know, ditch that electronic shit. It’s not the eighties anymore.” “Indeed,” said Shannon. “The music I write is the kind of music I’ve been wanting to get my hands on all my life. I’ve got it all on my iPod. When I listen to it, it just makes me smile.” “What do you mean?” said Fiona. “Just, like, I listen to music all the time. If I think it’s good, I enjoy it and everything, but it still kind of depresses me.” “Why? Because you didn’t write it?” “No, just because it isn’t how I would of done it.” “Oh,” said Fiona. “Yeah, it’s like nothing really compares to my music. Here,” he said, offering Fiona the earpiece. “Have a listen.” She wiped the earphone on her sleeve, then put it close to her ear, listening. “Well,” she said. “It’s good, but, I don’t know.” “What? You listen,” he said, offering the earphone to Shannon. She looked at it, raised it to her ear for a few seconds. “It’s not really the kind of music I like,” she said. “If people don’t like it, they just don’t get it.” Shannon’s opinion of him started to solidify. “Like, I wrote this song called Not Going Down, and it’s all about girls that don’t give head, ‘cos I just can’t stand girls that won’t give blowjobs. It’s like, limiting sexual experiences, I just can’t deal with it. And my girlfriend, well, my ex-girlfriend, didn’t like it. She didn’t understand it more like.” “Well… it’s quite… a complex idea,” said Fiona “Exactly. Having said that, I used to hate going down on girls. But then I met my ex and I just wanted to kiss her all over. Including down there.” Shannon was tensing her mouth, desperate to prevent the hilarity growing within her from exploding into laughter. “And when I started doing it all the time she got bored of it. She was like, ‘Will you stop eating me out.” Fiona giggled, Shannon sent an elbow into her ribs. “No. It is funny,” he said. “I mean how can she get bored of it? She’s mad.” “Yeah,” said Fiona. “Definitely,” said Shannon. “Think that was why we broke up to be honest.” “What, because of the song?” “No, ‘cos she was mental. Must be that, I mean, the sex was great. Not just for me. For her as well – I could tell.” “Lucky girl,” said Fiona. “Anyway, it’s better being single. Playing the field. Doing what, and who, I want.” “It must be great,” said Shannon. “Yeah it is. Does get a bit boring though. I mean, after ten girls, you do get a bit bored with naked bodies. A girl takes her clothes off and I’m like, I’ve seen it all before, I need a bit more.” Shannon wondered what level of depravity would serve to excite this jaded fornicator, but then thought better of it. “So how many girls you slept with then?” said Fiona. “Well… twelve. Most of them really loved it too.” The bus arrived: the noise of hissing brakes, a rumbling engine, and a noxious cloud engulfed them. “I’m Dave, by the way,” he said, offering a hand.
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