maybe tomorrow…

old air invades his infested lungs as he slowly steps out of the white dirty club.in a crazy missunderstood way he does not want to sleep evan if the seventh hour of the new day approaches with fast pace.he looks at the glass in his hand and smiles without thinking.hedonist…awake…solitary.his friends leave as he points to them his new destination…no words are spoken…there is no need for that.

Pinkelton is asleep…exhausted after fucking 29 redheaded bitches in his big immaginary bed inside the small immaginated castle up in his mind.he smiles again seeing the white prick moving through the dream world.”quiet” he thinks.or does it?…he forgot for one night about the other inhabitant of his sick persona…that little white ghost on wich ‘danger’ is written with capital letters…the soul.he forgot about him…at least for the night that passed.and now…he came back…in his mind and in his feelings. he stopped his steps and sitted down on the cold stone in front of him.a necessary urge of screaming out loud made it’s way inside his mind…but he didn’t.deserved not the little white prick.

waves and waves of dirty water battered upon the shore bringing with them beautifull noises of serenity.he sat down on the wet sand and posted his eyes on the big star rising from the sea.shouts around him were transformed in quitness and the darkness into light.he staired for minutes at that sick paintng of a new day…the painting of maybe tomorrow.

”the sun!” he heard from somewhere around him spoken by a simple child voice.he turned his head and a little kid was sitting near him playing with it’s small hands in the wet sand.the little child turned to him and smiled.he did not smile back.

”you like the sun as well, it seems” he said to that forgotten piece of humanity near him. the child said nothing.

”is such a easy feeling to be a child…I would give anything to be able to go back twenty something years ago…to feel again that lack of responsability and that easyness of life.but that is impossible, isn’t it? it is impossible to have a clean soul again…to be away from all the troubles of a sick heart or a sick body.it is impossible…

look at you…playing in the sand in the early hours of the morning…waitting for good days to come as the world is opened to you…possibilities…millions of them.

free…instinctual…without anything bad inside of you…without any wishes of your heart…without drunken nights and sleepless days…without horrible bosses and without understanding what happens around you…just you and the sea.

would you like to trade places with me?…just for one day…one single day.I guess not…you wouldn’t leave your toys or you milk waitting for you at the end of a glorious day…you wouldn’t leave your small friends with wich you go biking or play hide and seek…why would you? and for what?…for feelings of incomplition?…for small glimses of perfection?…for 29 bottles of bacardi?…neeeah, you’re right kid…I wouldn’t trade places if I were you either…”

the little child said nothing all this time…just played in the sand smiling from time to time to himself.

the innocent idea lived happily on his beautifull face…a idea of dreams to come and days of joy.

”don’t be like me kid…don’t be a kid when you grow up…it’s the biggest mistake a grown up cand make.never wish for things that are not meant to be yours…persons or feelings…nothing.just take what’s yours…if it’s not…leave it alone. grow up fast and think before you act as if you don’t you’ll have to punish yourself afterwords…and that, I’m telling you, it’s not the best feeling in the world. and kill your soul kid…as soon as possible…kill it. if you don’t it will haunt you for the rest of days…because you see kid…he is the evil…he is the child inside us…he is the dreamer, the wisher, the innocence. and he has no remorse…no responsability…he just wants things…states of mind and body…he does not think or puts numbers upon a white piece of paper…no, he just screams like a eightheaded beast from somewhere down your stomach.he just wishes…”

the little kid looked at him again and smiled for the 45th time. he showed him his sand filled hands with a giggles of joy.

he smiled back for a second there and drunk from his bacardi glass near him.

a second of peace came inside his head and happy he was.he turned the head towords the little kid again searching for that smile before…but the kid was not there anymore.he searched around him with strange eyes but he was not. he was gone…or maybe a dream of morning…the maybe tomorrow dream…