(Excerpted from a fictional piece)
I always fancied a stiff drink. You hated it, it definitely did bother you. Frown was what separated my drink, me and you. Three ends of a triangular spectrum.
The other day, you had just come back from a jog. I could smell your pheromones (what!! you thought you did not have it), mixed with your deodorant, body odor and sweat. A sweet flagrant mix.
"Enjoyed your run?"
"Fuck enjoy!!. I could not even run 45 mins. My knees are sore. My body is in immense pain. Each muscle is revolting.", you were huffing as you said this, sipping from your shaker.
"Then why run? Why not choose a more peaceful exercise."
"Like what? Walk? Fucking sissy.", another gulp and then you added, "I need to feel numb. I need to tire down my insides. I would rather take the physical pain, than deal with the sharp torment of my insides. I need to blunt my inner wounds.". After another pause, "You never get it, na? Walk in my shoes someday."
"So more like a balm for your wounded soul?"
"Yes, thats a good way to put it poet.", you said with a smirk.
"You are right, I dont know your insides. I do want to dance with them. Allow me to walk with you, darling ". After a few seconds, I added, "I have my own demons. They often come out to play. I like to drown them with a drink. Its my version of a funky town."
With a finality I added, "Come drink up with me, and I will stroll in your garden. I might bandage your wounds, while you tame my demons. Deal?"
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