Expert witness to the crimes of love

[mudshark]

So, last night, Friday, I figured I go out and get myself a girl.
I am writing this Saturday night at 8.
After work I got straight home. After being yelled at and tantered bye, bye the Man.
I was in a great mode! That boss yelling don’t stick to me. It don’t even leave a mark. I ve had to much. it’s a fucking joke to let the job put you down. Specially if you’re a god damn fork-truck royalty. We don’t give a shit.
(and if your into hearin’ about it, that’s accually why I didn’t use my education for what it was worth. Look at our piano man. He don’t put no moore majo on the eggs than I do. And I put a lot of mayo on ma eggs. Hell. To tell you the truth, we did excange pay checks at one time, and he was quiet for a while there. Thinking about the student mortgage. The 8 years of education. Long nights with homework. Student tests to be graded. People to misguide. Padded armes on the sleaves. Briefcase and all. he doesnt give a shit either, but he has to.
We don’t talk much about it any more, come to think of it. )

So I was a lone. Not lonely. It is ok for a man my age to not have appointments every single second of the week, you know.
It was kind of a weird and lonly feeling though. Just a bit strange that no one called or any thing. I always use to fill out those free weekends with shit. And no I was on the coach, flipping the remote en garde. I was about to turn the thing on. It seamed like the natural thing to do, in that position. But then I realized I hesitated.

I was going down town. See if anyone was there. Shark likes to move. But the shark moves in elegant ways. Sudden. Plan less.
I went up town. The football pub was a renewed facility. Some years ago I wouldn’t throw a stick in there. (whatever does he mean by that?) this was 8 o’clock, last night.
And I tell you: at 8 oclock on a Saturday night in Mars, outside is probably the loneliest place in the world.
Televison plastmas ruled the living rooms. They all wathched the same channel. NRK. Our own nettwork. Norweigian National Broadcasting. Non-commercial owned by us, the state. And these fucking giant screens!
Families gattered around them. As I work my way up towards This pub, Øre villa, this family thing had almost gotten straight to my heart. I had to run the last 100 meters.
Place was still a dump. I had no business there. Landed a Ringnes beer. Walked down town. A different route.
About this time the girl I was gonna get would have to wait for it to happen. I was after the beer. To be precise, a Guiness.

To get one of those, lines would have to be crossed.