7 or virgil and dante missed all the fun
Phonzo has never been sure about when the right time to celebrate would be.
So, when Luchino shouted “It’s time to celebrate!”, you checked the time on your phone. However, despite the fact that no one had achieved any life goal yet, it was a good time to lower the level of stress and anxiety and maybe raise the euphoria’s. What you felt being centuries passing by was nothing longer than ten days. Maybe nine and a half. No new society has had the time to rise and fall that’s for sure. Ten jobless days in an alien alienating land. That’s all you needed to feel enough pressure and anxiety to erupt into a lonely night cry. You are very self-critical and with a strong teardrop safety lock (you know, due to that toxic stuff you didn’t know about). A lethal combination which led to a thirty-seven-seconds-cry while texting a friend from home. Yeah, what you needed was to celebrate. “Let’s do that! Where are we going?”, said the one we agreed to call Phonzo. And Luchino, “Not too far from angels and cherubs. But, first, let’s go to… “.
Sohoma. Area of filthy pleasures and filthy streets. Especially on weekends. It’s so hard to distinguish the smell of alcohol from that of bodily fluids. Good thing is they create a thick layer of atmosphere which preserves all the partygoers from the global warming effects. Which is a thing, not sure you all read about it. Anyhow, Sohoma. Where clubs with huge neon letters like G, A and Y, constantly highlighted and flashing in the passer-by’s eyes in order to convey them towards funnier shores, were nothing more than Hidden Hideouts for Hideous Hidalgos, as the designated sign was stating. Eluna was outside there waiting for them. Her skin was trying to mimic Stop this shit right now. Seriously. She was wearing a peacock-like dress perfectly matching her sunny smile. That wasn’t hard, was it? Her friend wasn’t going for the same result approach. Zanna looked moody and grumpy like only a total black winter outfit can look like. Zanna, like Luchino and yourself, is from the Southern Side of the Boot Peninsula even though she does not have the appearance. Eluna, as she promptly pointed out, is from the Mistaken Indias. A night in the name of the Souths was about to start.
The HHHH was crammed. The smell of unchained hormones and troublemaker pheromones was so strong you felt dizzy. You all sat down with a pint of amber nectar each. Cheapest pints in Sohoma. Everybody reached 0oz in a minute. Luchino and Eluna went to refill.
“So, you’re a Booter as well, eh?” “Mh”, Zanna kind of answered. “Whereabouts?” “Pøzen”. “Nice! So you’re a Southerner as well!” “Mh”, Zanna kind of answered again. You felt the air getting colder and thinner and it wasn’t because of Sohoma atmosphere. “How long have you been in Londinium?”, Zanna distractedly asked. You smiled. “Oh, it’s less than two weeks”. “I see…”, Zanna sentenced. You were freezing now. Where the hell was Luchino? “Someone said let’s get wasted?”, Luchino high-pitched erupting voice settled the temperature back to comfortable. And so they drank. And they kept drinking for a while and a while more. Everyone was feeling warmer now, but Luchino and Eluna were definitely the Queens of the scene. You temporarily transitioned inside a bubble which was giving you an alternate version of the reality you were living in. Luchino and Eluna had that kind of warm attitude completely foreign to the land you stepped in not long ago. An opening which confused you despite it hadn’t been that long since you left home. And Eluna had something, something you couldn’t explain yet. Everything was so new you looked like a big bubbly baby most of the time. Everything was so far away already, like you’ve been sucked in a black hole, even though you had no idea how a black hole would feel like of course. Space and time were revolting, clashing, tearing each other apart. Your inner world was finally making love to the outer one for the first time. Maybe it was the booze. Maybe it was the dancing. Maybe it was time to take a breath.
Everyone opted for an unbalanced walk. People in the streets were screaming, shouting, peeing in not so hidden corners, touching each other, having full human interactions. You had no idea of where you were, but you kept following your new friends trustfully. You reached what looked like a pocket-size square or a tiny park. Or maybe it was just a garden. Some sort of bits of green among tall grey buildings, something a new migrant wasn’t able to classify yet anyway. You all sat down on a wet humid anti-homeless-people bench. Everybody was randomly rambling. Luchino was giving his best as the natural-born primadonna he’s always been. Eluna was trying to keep up but couldn’t aspire to more than the sidekick position she already secured. Zanna was silent seating on top of the seatback of the bench. She subtly took something out of a pocket and, in a clumsy attempt of making herself less visible which brought everyone to shift their attention towards her, she started making what looked like one of the finest happiness’s pipes ever seen. And, happily together, you shared. “Is it fine?”, you asked. “What?”, non-kindly asked Zanna back. “I mean, we’re in the city centre, no?” “Oh, darling…”, said Luchino giving you the look he gives every time he asserts what he asserted. Eluna laughed and you took your turn on the pipe without questioning anymore. Few days into emigration and you were already breaking the law. Or that’s what you thought at least. You never truly looked into the legislation. Not even back home. And you had no idea this was because of the privilege, didn’t you? The privilege of saying that you might have as well mistaken it for a cigarette, grabbed it from the floor and light it up because you’re a poor jobless emigrant with nothing but a couple of supposedly friends and a tiny fridge in a shared bedroom. Your thoughts couldn’t stretch deeper than always acab and fuck society. That’s what Mx Brain was suggesting anyway. Wait a minute? Who’s Mx Brain? And what does Mx mean? Oh, shit, Phonzo was happy. You just realised that, but you preferred to be lost in your thoughts or whatever those words written down in a .docx file by Mx Brain were. Only Odin knew what was going on around you. Luchino was bragging about a party, Eluna wanted to join, but Zanna preferred to go home because, as she was saying, they had three king shifts in the next days. What the heck was a king shift anyway? So, Luchino turned to his protégé, who automatically nodded a sign of approval, despite everything being foggy and uncertain.
Next thing you knew, you’re on a bus, fighting to be awake. Luchino was screaming a song together with a stranger, then he’s pole dancing, then he grabbed you and got off. “I know what you need” is what he said while dragging his confused wingman into a Six Dudes, one of the many nasty burger places in Londinium. You were being fed a quadruple layer bacon cheeseburger filled with anything edible besides human flesh (is that edible?). That’s your impression at least. Your 7XL can of druggy fizzy black seems endless until you realised is Luchino who kept feeling it up. “You’re finally back on Earth! Now get ready to fly to… “.
El Paraiso. The biggest or the most famous or the most something you can’t remember, but the most overcrowded samesexual club that night for sure. You’ve never been to one before, but it looked much like any other club. No, not that dark pink room with a stage and performers, but, well, the part you’re able to see and understand at least. The fog in the brain didn’t help. You and Luchino finally reached the dancefloor. And you danced and danced and danced. Not for long to be honest, it’s distorted perception mostly. You’ve been only fifteen minutes into dancing when Luchino is hooked up. You checked on him, sure the dude will be bounced, but the two kept dancing without caring much about the vouyer. You decided to start a solitary trip in the club which meant turning yourself into a living moving target for all the folks in there ready to hit any breathing hole. You’re victim of a long series of ambushes until you find shelter in the bathroom. You peed, washed and refreshed your face. A hand offered you a paper towel to dry with. You thanked this dude who stood there surrounded by toilet products and with a bowl full of coins. Not sure of what’s going on, you casually dropped a couple of yours and left before being ambushed again. You power walked towards an emptier corner you saw when you walked into the club. There, you’re able to dance alone. All around you, samesex dudes were dancing with their female straight friends. Had you just experienced what they experience every time they dance in a binary club? Not sure you thought about that at the time, but Mx Brain decided to write it down anyway.
Being cornered was getting boring, so you opted to check on Luchino. Who was still making out with the stranger. “I might gonna leave then”, and all you got back is a nod. Maybe. Or maybe not, he was just dancing. You dashed off knowing where to go. You reached a driverless bus and sat on the front of the top deck, contemplating social networks.
“Rough night?”, a stranger in suit next to you asked. “Kind of. A friend ditched me ten minutes after we went into a club”, it wasn’t true, it was fifteen minutes, “what about you?”. The stranger’s suit is creased, clearly he wasn’t working. Long loose hair, baby face with big jaw and big nose, non-Celt accent, he drinks a druggy fizzy black liquid, classy elegant shoes crossed on the bus windscreen. “Poker night with friends and colleagues. I’ve lost loads of money, but I’m having fun. What do you do in London?” ” I just moved from the Booty Peninsula and I’m planning to study Technical Scribing for the Big Wide Screen and, hopefully, find a job in the BWS industry. What about you?” “I’m Hollandaise. I finished my super higher degree in The Rules We Mistake For Sacred a couple of months ago. Was doing a paid internship back home, but I found a position for an American evil syndicate here in Londinium. Huge salary and way more fun, no? So, I moved here. Now, I have a flat of my own and I can host poker nights. HA! Good choice, no?” “Definitely. You look quite young tho.” “I’m 23. Same as you, right?” The bus engine started. The Hollandaise stood up. “Break done. Have to go back to the table. Thanks for the company”. He got off by the time the big red beast left. You were heading to bed and you weren’t looking forward your first minimum waged day of work.