You know, already, the day is not fun. The daily grind, current affairs. Not like you’ve done much in your day. Nothing conclusive. You go out, the storm rumbles, the sky darkens. You come out of the building, the humidity, the heat. From 22nd avenue to my house, about an hour and a half away. With this fucking virus, it’s even more boring.
We gather in the bus, people plague, it’s long. And this stop at the red light, longer than usual. Much longer. Fog on the windows of the bus, which reflect red and blue lights. The traffic around us has also stopped. Drivers exiting vehicles, look ahead, hold their heads with their hands. I turn around. An accident.

I storm out, throw my bag on the ground (puddle). A man, on his back, his helmet smashed beside him. Blood, all around, like a halo. His scooter, almost intact, on the side. The taxi that knocked him over, answering the police’s questions. Everything is agitated, except the victim, motionless. His chest rises and falls as I massage his heart. The rain which intensifies, the hail, the dust which falls on us. Some GIs stretched over us a piece of tablecloth torn from a restaurant terrace. There are maybe twenty of us around this stranger. Twenty lives trying to save another life. The emergency vehicles arrive one after the other, sirens blaring, flashing lights. Life, life. We are fighting for life. It’s a war. The war against death. Relentless, heroic. Useless.

My shirt is soaked. Water, sweat, blood. Brain, too. He has finished dying. I am coming back home. I buy, like every evening, this street food at the Indian at the bottom of my block. Cold meat, curry, Light Coke. I can’t help it, I like it. You see? You understand now? Death, all the time, everywhere. She prowls around, sly, ready to strike. My enemy, perpetual. She wins, almost every time. I need to feel fucking alive. Maybe I’ll call this blond girl back. She must be married now to a man twice her age. Two children, certainly. See her again, and fuck together. Finally, twenty years later (but before it is too late). I want to fuck, fuck. Feel alive. I need to fuck to feel alive. To want so much. So much needed.