Half past five in this early morning, somewhere near Elephant and Castle, shamed by the stench of mine cumbersome breeches. It had been too long since this garment was first met with mine skin. High time it should be replaced with something more alleviating, something more fresh, and something less toxic than mine own waste. Fortunately today is most definitely that day, if I get the will and energy to do so still later on. Once when daylight touches the tip of my crouching wanton eyes, caressing the luggage beneath it, hoping the muddy dark be washed away by simple liquid, away from the petals of the absent sun and hopeless cold. Plan is to revisit an old place of shelter, once thought to be mine acquaintance, but never lasted as hoped it would. Met no person of relevance to call a friend unlike that one called Clink save for one whom I tried to shake from memory just because his person became symbolic of mine very own misery. Him and I had some similarities in common, though you would never thought it be by the looks of our faces: the rivalry between our lives' conditions intertwined; the interest and desperation of wanting to be loved in a world of melodragic circumstance; and the joy and sadness of having hearts so glass. It had been long since our paths last mingled, and part of me hoped that that was last indeed. Mauritius was all that stayed in mine mind to remind me of him. His name deleted from mine conscious. But mention it once or twice and it will flood right back in.
I had seen him in another occasion just one time even after that one event. It was not so long ago, but long ago enough to remember that I still had a job back then. If not the night reception one I had with Ambassadors, then most definitely the floor runner one with Flora Indica. Both of which ended in a tragic mishap brought about by mine proclivity to run mine temper pedal to the metal. I was walking along that path in Hyde Park that connects straight from High Street Kensington to Bayswater and vice versa when Mauritius here appeared out of nowhere walking in the opposite direction having something in his hand that seemed to scream dodgy! without having asked. Had no time to spare to say hello, I barely liked the man. He tried to fuck a Polish girl with a funny name from a hostel I once was mates with, near a hedgeplace I used to stay somewhere within Belsize Park. Good neighbourhood, to say the least, but the experience of mine stay there was far from joyful. It was rather dull, almost dangerous, and expensive. This was before I quit hostel-hopping to settle in mine hedgehome at Hyde Park. Mauritius was gone, and that was it. The memory of him however lingers, and I cringe the thought of randomly bumping into him in the street wherever I went. Once he was symbolic of my fears, now he reminds me of this whole ordeal. A year full of shitters in the sack which I cannot hope to escape from. This whole fiasco of Mimi coming in a month's time is just a masquerade to add flavour to the ones I have lost when mine tongue was stuck in a pole before mine father tucked his cock to his ass and ran away. Nothing will change. It scares me. She does not deserved to fall into mine trap.
Hopefully later on today I get to speak to a person named Roberto whom I can negotiate with with regards to me and Miriam's living space for December. Last Friday was a busted chance due to the feels of the weather.