A Monkey Lesson

2003-06-04 - 9:33 a.m.

Awake again, shuffling my way onto the subway. I find a seat in the belly of the beast and take it before some other greedy bastard does. Hump day is always a bitch in the morning because you still haven't quite reached the hump yet.

I feel the eyes on me. I know they see right through my thin veil of togetherness. Four new shot glasses arrived none too soon in an abused box from a continent away and last night I tried each glass out twice for good measure. I'm not together, I'm a drunkard. My 20 proof sweat melts my exterior away to show a scared, lonely little boy. Headphones and a book shield me from nervously glancing around, flashing a commuter smile at complete strangers, listening to the inane discourse found on any and all forms of herd transit.

I smell. I must. Lady Macbethian scrubbing in the shower can't cover the stench of my binge escapism. Thankfully we're nearing the formidable, proverbial, literal end of the line, and most of the other fine mild-mannered citizens have filed off the phallic underground train. Easing a bit, I open my cigarettes without removing the pack from my shirt pocket. One left in the chamber, and luckily one's all I need to kill a monkey.

The gray sky over San Francisco isn't helping much. I weave my way through wayward wandering workers this Wednesday. I stop on a corner with intent to cross and unfocus the eyes a bit while cars creep by. That's when I caught my reflection in the tinted windows of any number of Lexi, BMW's, Mercs and Jags that inhabit this exhibit in the zoo. Young, bottom-rung corporate America stares back at me with the noticeable lack of any simian passenger on his back. I don't trust much nowadays, but if my reflection doesn't have a monkey on him, then I assume neither do I.

Monkeys don't like cigarettes, something about the smell. Sure, you've seen lab monkeys smoke in commercials before, but you pick up all kinds of bad habits hanging out with scientists.

Relieved that the unwelcomed little shit is gone, I think back to something it told me last night, when it was pouring me another round. I've always been a staunch supporter of polyamory, citing biological reasons, criticizing monogamy as being the most insanely stupid institution we've inflicted upon ourselves since we invented God. I said to the hairy little guy through slurred diction and more than likely some spittle that I envied the lack of mores monkey life afforded. The smarmy shit had the gaul to tell me that monogamy was better in the long run, since you could only have your heart broken once at a time.

I'm glad that fucking monkey is gone.