a short short story

MISERABLE HAPPINESS

“None of those idiots fucking understand me. Not one of them.”
The reviews had been unfavorable. Garry paced back and forth in his low-grade loft, wine bottle in hand, pausing for swigs or gulps or chugs between bitter remarks. Lila watched him from their overstuffed couch as she chain smoked Lucky Strikes and appeared unamused.
“There's just too much for them to understand,” said Lila, “you're too passionate.”
“Too passionate? The only thing I am passionate about is obscurity!” Garry said.
“Yes, your tortured soul. I'm growing very tired of this charade. You never have time for me.”
“Do you have to bitch so much? My work is my work. You said you could deal with that.”
Lila stared at Garry and for a moment he could see her gears turning. He understood her insanity as she did his. Her small, pale hand extended towards his thigh. She began rubbing up and down, sensuous and manipulative.
“I can deal with it. We can deal with it. Let's go out for a drink. I need a drink.”
He shoved the half empty wine bottle in her face.
“What do you think I'VE BEEN DOING?”
“Well I'd rather go out”
“Well go out then. Fuck every man you see.”
The sultry nature of her insanity began again. And Garry knew. There were some things he just could not avoid.
“I want to go out with you. I want every man to see me with you. They'll become absolutely jealous with rage.”

Wordlessly, the two exited the run-down apartment building, hand in hand.
“This city is fucking miserable,” said Garry, “Everyone is miserable.”
Old age crept up on Garry. He once chased women without much effort, had no issues of the liver, got what he wanted when he wanted it; thus, the world was not entirely full of suffering. Not too good, but not too bad. Once his joints began giving out on him and an arch grew in his back, his misery belonged to everyone who crossed his path. His yellowed teeth broke into a crooked pattern, liver spots developed on his hands and face, and his hair grayed quickly.

“Let's go to Bob's Bar,” Lila insisted.
“That creaky piece of shit?”
“We go to Bob's Bar almost every night.”
“Yes, we do. And it's a creaky piece of shit.”
“Well where the hell do you want to go?”
“The Vineyard.”
“That fancy cafe? I'd feel out of place.”
“You're going to have to deal with it, just walk in like you own it. I'm feeling frivolous.”

Garry and Lila arrived at the Vineyard. They sat outside, beside the street and the sidewalk and the commotion.
“So we can observe life,” Garry told them.
The Vineyard's location was questionable. Garry and Lila's neighborhood, on the verge of being shunned by society as “the slums,” wasn't the most beautiful part of the city. This cafe was without doubt strangely placed. Upscale dining, overpriced drinks, thrown right into the middle of certain chaos. Garry enjoyed chaos. But he also reveled in the act of escaping.
They ordered drinks and sat, without talking much. Garry stretched his arms behind his head from time to time, breathing in, sighing, and then smiling.
“Isn't this nice?” he would ask.
“Yes, it is,” Lila repetitively replied.
They ordered many drinks. Garry and Lila did not keep count, but the bill did.
Lila suddenly grabbed Garry's hand with both of hers amidst the cherished silence.
“You know I love you, right?” she asked with a sort of desperation.
“Yes. And I love you.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“We are both stuck in a state of miserable happiness. Always have been, always will be.”
“Ah, yes. That sounds about right.”
Garry paid the tab, left a generous tip, and the two of them walked, with their arms around each other's bodies, through their run-down city, back to their run-down loft, to their run-down life. They gleamed with sheer joy with the certain awareness that it would never get any better.


*note: I kinda think this is too similar to bukowski's short stories. but whatever. I will find my style eventually.