and if there’s no more room in hell, may zombie Romero walk the earth.
I was sitting on the couch watching some random series on TV when I had the feeling of déjà vu.
It was taking longer than usual and I felt like I could tell what was going to happen next.
I realised a couple seconds later I was just sitting on the couch like I always do and that that episode was a rerun.
In my teenage years I dated a guitar player. One day we went to the studio where a quite famous and mainstream pop rock band rehearsed, to meet the guitarist who was selling my boyfriend an amplifier. This guy was definitely a talker.
He told us he used to play in a heavy metal band, but this is where the money is and now he lived off of music. He told us about a vocalist and actor he knew that told him he didn’t like his music because it was too commercial. He found that ironic, since that actor was known for playing a part in a cheesy – yet quite successful – soap opera.
Three or four years later, between concerts in a music festival, a friend of my date’s – that happened to be an actor – talked about his favorite bands and music. At a certain point he told us how he once told a guy that he didn’t like his music because it was too commercial.
It took me a few minutes to realise that this was the same person I heard about years before I met him. So I told him about the coincidence and how the guitarist thought his statement was ironic since he was just as much of a sell out.
He said his case was different. I asked how. He said, “It’s just different.”
I was 18 and had just got into university. I met this 40-something-year-old guy who was also a freshman. He was a bit eccentric and very intelligent. He was taking dramaturgy.
We only spoke a few times but he seemed nice. I don’t remember much of our conversations but I remember him once telling me something like, “You’re a nice girl, there’s just one thing I don’t like about you: you smoke joints.” I laughed.
One morning, before class, I found him and a friend of mine talking in the lobby. I went to say hello and we spoke a little. After a few minutes he felt and my friend told me what they were talking about.
He told him that he was once an heroin addict and had been clean for a while. He had chronic hepatitis. That morning he woke up feeling depressed and could only think about getting a hit. While riding the metro he passed the stop where he used to get it, but kept going and went to school instead.
I never saw him again.
About 8 years later – not too long ago, actually – I dreamed about him. In my dream we bumped into each other on the street by chance and talked for a little bit. He told me he had decided to get away for a while and had been traveling all these years.
I just feel like writting about whatever. Let’s see where this goes.