11. Two great deals

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Sit with the legs crossed starring into the bright existence. Drink of beer. Toke of the cigar. Drag of joint. Repeat. Chill music playing. WIFI not working. Toilet leaking. No hot water. Rat in the aircon. But will still give a good review because I don’t want to be a nuisance. Sorrow sits there but so what? so does hunger, it all just comes and goes. The problem with any so-called sadness is that it’s always met with the notion it needs to be fixed. So no one wants to be a burden. That’s why they’re sad in the first place. They’re a knot in the cosmic body. But it really doesn’t need to be met like that. You're sad? you want to kill yourself? who wants to kill who? I’ll have a beer with the winner.

Have a collection of stories in the memory. Trying to recollect them makes you wish you never had them. I like to just write from the impulse and see what he comes up with. But I guess that’s a part of the institute of India’s curriculum.

I walked along the beach. I had a day of flow. Where all the pent-up thoughts fell into gorgeous rubble on the page. Not a lick of ink wasted. I was going to be famous by the end of this trip; famous to all’s inside. I walked with the force of the universe behind me. I'm sorry to all of those I hurt, but this had to happen, and our love was never going to let it. Well, the love would, just not everything that came with it. I have died a million deaths and I’ll die a million more. Still standing.

The big drug deal was going to go down. At 8:30pm, in the car park where I met the man on the scooter. He rang me at 6:10. Asking where I was.

“Main beach”

“You want to do this now?”

“I can be at the car park in 15 minutes”

“Ok bro”

So I set foot. The red sun dipped into the horizon and here I was going for a drug deal. Walking to a carpark whilst nature was showing off for me. Well I am nature too, and like the bear I must eat. As I got to the carpark, they awaited me. He sent a message saying,

“Be careful with score bro, cops are very alert”

And that really settled my nerves. I walked up to the man, and he was with a friend, on a scooter.

“Come with me bro” said his friend as I sat there like a dumb vulnerable penguin.

I gave a still standing expression of hesitation and he laughed,

“it’s ok bro”

I got on the scooter and his mate drove over two lanes to a side street. He handed me a small bag of weed. Looking dark and sad inside the plastic packet. I put it in my pocket. The first drug deal I have done whilst holding the dealers’ hips.

He stops and I ask, “How much?”

“How much he say?”

And this is where it shows that you cannot go into the supermarket and buy experience off the shelf,

“1000” I said. Should’ve said 100,

“Make it 1500”

“Ok” I sat with big cartoonish childish eyes.

He gave me the bag, introduced himself. He had light brown eyes that held some charm.

“Where you from?”

“OSTRALEEYA” my bogan mouth says,

“Oh I'm Pakistani bro, I'm here studying. Whatever else you want just ask me bro” he says as he taps his nose. He gave me his number and scooted off.

I already had a few beers whilst deciphering the universe earlier that day. But I walked home with curiosity.

Rolled a joint. The weed looked tired. Had seeds in it too. I had been ripped off but what do you do. $30 for a story, I hope you enjoy it.

I smoked the joint. Felt lightheaded. Felt fucking stoned.

Then I probably wrote some more bullshit to try and gratify my existence. Walked to go get dinner. The anxiety of the vicious herb was loving the freedom inside my body. The stray dogs looked a little pouncier. The men are little more stabby. And the roads a scream of chaos. I walked to the place I had already been twice and ordered food and a beer. I sat there, like the fat white capitalist I am and ate the place sideways. All the weight I had lost from Kochi, I had now found in Goa.

People gathered around as I ate.

“Wow look at him go”

“He is mixing that… with that?”

“He just keeps going!”

And I just sat with my head down. Butter chicken all over my face. I was everything that’s wrong with the world. Afterwards I will go into a cinema and smoke a cigar and be racist. But I didn’t, because I didn’t know where the cinemas were.

The next day a lady messaged me. On an app I'm using for networking.

“Want to come to my apartment?” she asked,

“Why?”

“dunno”

“You want to make love?”

“do u?”

“yeah, I do, you?”

“yeahhh”

But I just wanted the validation. She did seem real; my instincts were aiding positivity. But that could be my balls talking. Those two cunts never shut up. I didn’t want to go. One, there was a chance I was getting set up to be robbed at knife point. But I had a few sureties to silence that concern. I couldn’t be fucked to be honest. I was happy with drinking and masturbating. You know, it’s a lot of pressure to just meet a girl for sex. First of all, there is the chance that I'm not attracted to her in person. That I get scared by the situation. That I get a sore stomach. That I have to wear a condom. That I’ll get HIV. Where will I finish? What if she has an abnormity?

But I'm a writer remember; you are here for experiences. Plus what's a story without sex? think of all the pigs at home that need their drool. Who cares that this eloquent female is offering you her flower, put it in a vase and show your mates!

I told her I can’t get there, because I couldn’t unless I got a cab and that was in the too hard basket.

She told me that they will come to Panji tonight, then you can meet us out and we can go off together.

“That sounds good, a bit more romantic” I replied,

“yeahhh” she replied.

So there I was, about 3:30 in the afternoon with plans to see a bunch of strangers. That’s when it all kicked off. I thought about my plan; I will have another coffee. I will go buy a few more beers. I will get another cigar. Maybe I’ll smoke a joint now and that will put me in more of an easy-going mood. I did it all. Went to dinner at the same place. I wanted to do everything but meet new people, but I had to do it. Why? I dunno. for you?

I ordered a pina colada.

“Sir, this is delicious” I said, “where do you get the cream?”

“Goats cock”

I ordered another three. Ate dinner. Didn’t get garlic on my roti. Sacrifices were being made.

I message her around 7,

“What time do you want to meet?”

48 seconds go by with no reply, ah shit, she’s gone cold.

Then an hour. I keep drinking to try and find something! I think to myself that it doesn’t matter. They have no reference point on who you are. You can go in there and be quiet, and shy. Drunk and giggly. Resemble a bulldog.

But what about the sex?

uhhh yuk, I couldn’t think of anything worse. I just want to go lay down. But I've prepared so I refute all arguments in favour with my emotions.

2 hours, 3 hours. Fuck this. I gave up and I walked home. I felt stupid. Mostly because I didn’t want to do it in the first place. I had wasted so much angst on a future that wasn’t promised and didn’t eventuate. You have robbed me of my beautiful negative emotions.

The next morning she messaged me and asked, “Can you come to my apartment?”,

“no”

“aww, I really want to see you”

“okay”

“I will come to your apartment”

“I'm out”

“*sad face*”

And that was that,

I was done with sex.

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