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Day 2: Hellice

I braved the hellish cold after leaving the studios last night without any expectations in mind except perhaps a little bit of fear and paranoia. My body despised the memories of before back when I spent four miserable days and nights out in the wintry streets of London walking with only my willpower groove on half-empty. Last night was reminiscent of such a disastrous event. I took Jaime's advise and slept somewhere where there are long, overdue working hours like airports and international tube stations, decided to make a visit to King's Cross/St. Pancras International and did just that. It's extremely disgusting attempting to sleep in the bathroom, sure is. You're there leaning your head on the wall trying to catch some sleep when suddenly a guy on the other side farts and bleeds brown and the noise, oh the noise, is just so uncomfortable to the naked ears no matter how much you try to avoid it. I didn't last ten minutes, I just had to kill time some other way.

Even the insides of the edifice was chilly, kept my cool and hunger grounded, avoided all sorts of suspicion. Even under my heavily guarded garments the weather penetrates, pierces right through to my soul and sucks the life out of me. I can still hear my heart stammering that I feared I would probably require medical assistance a few moments from that point on. I persevered as I usually do, went on to some other alternatives, decided to go to random bus routes. To summarize it all, it wasn't as bad as what was about to happen but it sure was painstakingly difficult especially the going out part, searching for another vehicle in the middle of the night to pass by and hear your plea bargain of mercy. I reached Seven Sisters then Tottenham until rain set in to make matters all the fucking more worse than it already is. I could tell from just the experience that I had shed a tear that night. Twice. In different setting and situation. I just felt the urge to inflict as much pain and suffering to someone randomly, but I never acted upon it. I don't think I ever will. My mind is of a different world than my body. The bus from Tottenham reached Liverpool Street to my amazement and so I decided to take another different path to salvation, which was hardly even.

From this point forward, my goal was to reach Gants Hill through the Central Line and back again over and over until the station closed, after that only God knows where He'll smite me for my boorish pomposity that I exhibited towards my own mother. It became a matter of being able to hide away from any hints of the outside weather. As the doors opened on each stop, so did my vertebrae, clinging on to whatever was left on the lukewarm ambience of the reptilian vehicle. The tension grew more and more the farther away I get. People kept coming in and in and making noise, dancing to obnoxious music. I could swear I heard Spice Girls, while the old people in front of me enjoyed every moment of it, laughing with them making those girls more excited and kooky than they already were. I knew I just had to escape somehow. I didn't want to go out in a wide, open-spaced tube station where the torturous winds grew rampant. I had to stop somewhere safe. Lucky for me I did, so from Gants Hill I took the tube station back again until Tottenham Court Road in order to take the Northern Line which will bring me back to King's Cross/St. Pancras International, where I felt much comfortable than any of these places I've been since by that time I've already occupied enough time and the curtains began closing and everyone began packing up. To me, the dreadfulness of the night had just began. In any circumstance I was depending a lot on my Travelcard that went on for seven days and it expires a day after this upcoming Sunday, making me more nervous than ever before. I can't imagine not having some sort of transportation when I have nowhere else to crash and nothing to do. There was no alternative other than loitering on one established place that was hardly existent in this country. King's Cross/St. Pancras International would do, or Euston, for that matter, but each time I spend I grew weary of people staring at me uncomfortably while the ubiquitous scent of wind is nearing me each time I attempt to evade it. I returned to my toilet stall where finally some peace and quiet was resolved, but I found it difficult to concentrate whenever I accidentally press the flush button behind me. It sends my bum whirling like it was being absterged by a vacuum. I immediately gave up. With not much alternatives left, it was time for me to do it the hard way. Eat.

I found a halal restaurant across the station. My intention was already pretty clear in my mind. I'll buy nothing else except chips. They don't call them chips for nothing. That's also because they're cheap, and I'm running low on cash, I have to make do. It was a surprising success, I feigned the hunger buried inside my belly. I hoped to linger more than I should, but I couldn't. Not if I had to order over and over and over again. One was already too much for someone like me, and I'm hungry as a wolf to boot. Thirst then became an issue afterwards, another seventy pence down the drain just like that. Seventy pence, goddammit! That's all it was! Seventy fucking pence. I couldn't be more pathetic than that, trying to haggle a seventy pence soft drink.

The next event that transpired would be one for the ages. From that point in the restaurant back inside the station I walked unaided and calm looking for the nearest loo even though I barely needed it. Might as well use it while I still had the chance before everything turned sour. Again, I was hindered at the payment scheme of these absurd matters. Thirty pence this time. I shrugged it off, fuck it, and left. Instead of going back as I should have gone, I walked forward deeper into the station. It was dark and I noticed people walking towards a small pathway while construction workers work their way towards the renovation of the structure. After a short stroll, a tiny tunnel on my left side shaped like a grin opened up to me with a sigh of great relief and a hope. I continued on. There, despite almost feeling so out of place and almost trespassing, ventured on until I saw a familiar wall on the side. On top of it, it said 'Platform 3/4' and a stroller can be seen seemingly stuck in it, only half of it visible. Harry Potter! I yelled in my mind. What the fuck is that doing in a nasty place like this? Someone's playing some Jedi mind tricks on me. I ignored it for awhile, began to be more curious as to what was beyond the tunnel rather than that surreal wall. At the end of the tunnel I found out was a waiting tube. I had no idea where it planned to go or why. I used my phone to located my coordinates and to find its route but it wasn't there. It's beginning to be creepy at that point, but inside the tube were actual people with very elegant clothes, I felt obliged to come in, so I did.

Turns out it travelled towards Letchworth Garden City. Worst decision in my life. At least I garnered enough rest with the two long hours the travel cost, a delay helped cap off more minutes into sleep. But it wasn't worth it. I was in the middle of nowhere. Once I got there, there were no more trains going back until morning. I had to wait outside in the middle of the cold until one decides to drop by and is willing enough to send me back home. It was a long, barbaric two hours. I had to challenge everything I ever knew about this country. The steps I took had hints of snow in the vicinity even. I just wished I wasn't there when it'll happen. I'm going to kill myself if it ever did. I feared for life more than ever. Who knows what sorts of people inhabit this unknown place to me. It may have been the best place of the world, but for all I knew, I am but an alien lost in translation. I could feel my chest lock up and twist. I lied down on the ground, sat back up, squat leaning on the wall, walked back and forth, listen to the eerie alarm clock buzz off at four in the morning without anyone in sight. It was like Silent Hill, only I'm in it. Fuck if I ever want to experience such an awful thing. There's lots of things I would try but ghost towns with awful weather conditions are not.

When clock struck five, the cavalry finally arrived. That moment where you see light emitted from a distance like an angel telling you to relax and calm down, everything is okay, such was what I felt at that time. I was ecstatic of the news. I'm finally going back home, and if someone would ask me to pay I would probably tell them go call my parents. It couldn't possibly be free. Turns out it was free. My penis erection grew as was my sleeping pattern.

I arrived at King's Cross at around six, one hour earlier than I expected. I took the underground tube towards Hammersmith. I once again took some time to steal sleep during the travel. Once there, I miraculously mustered enough courage to pay for the loo even though I didn't need it at all. I just wanted to wash my face that badly. I could hear from where I stood at the loo the same sound I heard at King's Cross/St. Pancras International loo when one random man spat shit like it was Elmer's glue. Disgusting things happen frequently to me as witnessed and heard in this testimony. Went out and grabbed some breakfast inside Tesco. Sausage and egg that tasted like the exact same shit I've been listening to and milk that made me crap bucket loads of faeces more than normal people. Everything led to shit, as was how the night turned out to be shit, as was how the whole problem was shit. It's not money that makes the world go round, it's actually shit that makes it go round. That's probably how they designed toilet bowls, make the water spin swiftly to get rid of all that cluster of disaster. I went to LISPA all lazy and extremely exhausted, stole sleep again on one of the rooms, missed the early devising much to the disappointment of my colleagues. They wouldn't understand. Who would? Mine was a special case. I am a special case. A basketcase. Full of shit.


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