Flask

I tried to hang myself this morning. There's a cord near my bed that I figured could hold enough of my weight to at least asphyxiate myself rather than break my neck.I got up on the bed and put the cord around my neck and I stood there, realizing the bed wasn't moving and I was too far away from the edge of the bed to make me leap off it into mother's mercy. So, I gave up the idea and went to get a cup of coffee at the cafe on the ground floor of my apartment building. It was only 8am but I figured if I had gotten there early, I could reserve a couple of seats for maybe a lass could join. Remember, I did try to hang myself this morning.

The freight elevator arrived as I was locking up my apartment and I rushed quickly when I was lucky enough to have a jewellery filled hand hang onto the door for me. The building fired all tram boys a week ago, to save the measly pennies they were paying them anyways. The jeweled hand belonged to Miss Nancy (I don't know here formal name, except that it's Russian). Whata wonderful day to be saved, I told her and she smiled a gorgeous looking, entirely straight pearl of wisdom white teeth.

“Consider yourself lucky,” she gave a hoot, “the last man I did that for, I ended up marrying.”

I let out an absurd chuckle, kind of like a woodpecker bracing a virgin tree bark. I wonder if she is making a joke, or is considering me to ask her on a date, so I weigh the two options and assume she's asking for a date.

“Well, would you like to join me for a cup of coffee downstairs,” I looked her in her grey eyes, “it shall only take a minute or two.”

She looked at me with not a word in her mind and then that smile again, you know, the gorgeous looking, entirely straight pearl of wisdom white teeth smile. Well, at least she wasn't appalled by my question, and I was so eager for an answer.

“That will do fine. Nothing gets you buzzing like a nice cup of coffee with a little bamboozel of my lovely flask.”

She pointed to her breast pocket and there was a lump of flask hiding there. I wonder what she would be doing drinking so early for. Special occasion or just an everyday type of drunkenness. I assumed she would pour the contents in the coffee, mix it up and inebriate herself to forget this entire conversation or entire daily life for that manner. Should I ask her what was in the flask? I haven't drank since Tuesday, when our coworkers at the station brought in the finest whiskey in all of the land. Or so they said. Me, I can't tell the difference between shoe polish and vodka, but the men drank for it had been one year of service on the docks and I was paperwork patron, making sure everything got to where it was going via ship and sometimes rail, when the railway needed supplies for the continuation of its completion. I was an outcast, a stranger to these men, not to my superiors but the workers at the dock. We let them take what they wanted, because whatever we needed was always in abundance, and head office would always look after its own.

The elevator reached the ground floor with a hush and tussle. Something one would feel falling feet first off a bed with a cord tied around their neck. Poor bastard, my past self said to my being. I held the door open for her and she looked me in the eye and smiled. This may just be the jolly good cup of tea I need to balance my entire existence, no doubt.