My phone rings.

”Hello”
”So whats up, you sound a little grumpy?”
“No not really”
“So what am I missing out on overthere?”
“I don’t know what you are missing..I am tired. I went to this lame party last night…do you know the feeling to be at a party, a rave, a concert whatever, and you are just not on the beat. You are standing in the dark far side of the room with your arms crossed spitting in the same beer, just observing the gathering of the masses, doing it. Dancing, speaking, you know interacting, and you think to yourself, I`ll applause when its over not because it was good because its…over. I see right throught you jerks, fake and quasihumans, fuck them..I mean do you know the sense?”
“Sure, fuck yes!”
“So do you also know the direct opposite selfloathing feeling?”
“What are you on about?”
“Well, think, it`s you that’s being cornered, you..like in me that doesn`t work, I don’t interact, it`s me they see through, I am as easy to read as the content of a shoopingchart.”
“No, I cant say I do”
“hmm, weel I thought so. Bitch. So what are you up to, what are you doing?”
“I am at work…”
“Well it doesn’t sound like work…”
“What do you know about how works sound? But you are right, I am not really working, I am at Ryan MC to pick uo a new clutch for my … and hold ON....NEW Triumph Bournonville 72..”
“And you are paid doing that?”
“Sure, I am my man, so and you: are you getting any painting done?”
“Me, no no, not now, I am just getting out of bed”.
“Didn’t you just tell it me was a pathetic party?”
“Did I? Didn’t I tell you I had a godawfull time in Sweden?”
“Sweden? What the fuck are talking about? And please, turn down the volume on your stereo, I cant hear shit, my cellph0ne has a bad signal..”
”Its probably mine…”
”Christ, youre still using that peace of shit, buy a new, come on…”
”Why should I?”
“Get a grip, you want me to spell it out: yours isn’t working…”
“Well we are talking.”
”I dont know, am I listening, turn the motherfucking stereo down!”
“Fuck it, you gotta listen to this track, its so smoooth…”

I place my phone in front of the speaker and cranks the stereo up even higher, and keep it there until I think he`s had enough to think about something else, to have him impressed with something he doesn’t know, to mingle with his constant line of succeses. It matters to be ahead, to know. To get a head start.
I turn it down, and gets back on the phone, only to hear the charateristic sound of a toilet being flushed.

“Hello?”
“Yea, I am here”
“What are you doing?”
“I was taking a piss.”
“A piss…did you even listen?”
“Yea yea, I can do all three things at a time: take a piss, talk and listen.”
“So, what did you think?”
“What I think?”
“Yes fuckball, about the music.”
“Well, I don’t know it…”
“Jesus, no, but what did you think?”
“Who was it?”
“Nina Simone, the tracks called “Aint nobodys fault but mine””.
“Well, that I don’t know. Nina Simone you say. That’s a woman right? Why does she sound like a man?”
“…but what did you think….for crying out loud?”
“Pathetic…weener! What century is she from?”
“You ignorant fucking bastard!”

“Yea well, I just wanted to call you. See you”
“Do you think so?”
“..yea yea…”
“Bye”.

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