A doted man. Loved by parents and blessed with a wonderful family of a wife and daughter. Much loved for and much cared for. He might have been treated, or received otherwise by others around him. He never realized that. He had all the time in the world to think about all these details but he has always been occupied in walking with and understanding strangers. His soliloquies with them gratified his need for social interactions. Up on that post, with a finger clinging to the trigger of his modern machine gun and foots pacing within the two by two meters area of the post, he walked, and talked the mile with those perfect strangers.
Pedestrians, lot of them with different faces, expressions, and paces strolled, walked and trotted on the other side of that busy street. Every day, every another moment his eyes found some significant other to greet and to walk from one end of the turn to the other. From the place where they would become visible to him, nearing the turning and across the turning and to the angle, where his neck would find it difficult to see them, without changing his body’s angle, he walked with them. Just like his body, that was not allowed to walk out of that double square post, his eyes had been trained to follow anyone for ten meters (coming), one and half meter (turning arch) and another ten meters of posterior angle (breath). In this brief monologue-walk, that would allow me puff out four mild puffs from the cigarette, he developed neglect, adoration and disgust for his brief stranger, friend and enemy.
O God of battles! steel my soldiers’ hearts;
Possess them not with fear; take from them now
The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers
Pluck their hearts from them.
— W.Shakespeare in Henry V
Sometimes he would desire to walk around the corner in blue acid wash jeans, short shirt with folded sleeves, grizzled hair. He would walk with the guy being the guy — one hand buried in the jean’s front pocket, ear-phones bugged in, eyes fixed on the phone’s screen, fingers flipping the screen and lips casually whistling out the tunes. A smile would spread on his lips, unknowingly. Maybe the thought of it gave him pleasure. Pleasure. Oh yes, it was a pleasure for that was so cool to do. Walk on the streets floating in the music, without caring for who passed by, who rushed ahead. At the end of this two tens and half meter walk, he would live the life and return back to the starting point to create another wish. Another desire.
Sometimes he would walk with the girl, whom he would find the most beautiful creature he has even laid eyes upon. The initial ten meters, his starved eyes would touch her all the way while his lips would smile without asking his permission. He would caress the oval face that had no sharp turnings and allowed his fingers to slide down flawlessly. The shortness of the journey would make him impatient and turn him out of wits but than again he would remember to play with her hairs and in the awe would dream of taking her away with him. While he would go with her on a date in the wilderness of his desires, a romantic dohori would play for both of them.
She would vanish beyond his horizon leaving his date incomplete. Leaving him incomplete. Leaving him wanting. The dohori would stop abruptly. A deep sigh, would pay her off for the rendezvous. A tribute paid to the beauty- she had and he desired.
Sometimes , while enjoying the left-over of his rendezvous- a teasing-thought would question his joyous heart- Did she even slightly realize of what you both were doing here up on the post?
The smile would vanish pushing him back on his duty and his fingers would again retrace their hold on the trigger. His chest would puff up again to hold the weight of his tired shoulders. The sternness of his creed would return to his face. Wounded by the shots of his desires, tied to the post, he would prepare to inflict more wounds to his heart by walking to the tunes of his flickering and wondering desires.
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