The rain continued to pound furiously on the windows. It seems like the
city's been crying for days. It just pours and pours only to wash down the
gutters of New York City and reuse it as tainted dreams. Flooding their
sorrows just to be recycled into broken dreams again. Mark was asleep on
the couch. He stretched a little then rolled over. The door quietly opened
and was then shut. Mark wasn't about to open his eyes. It was probably just
Roger moving more stuff into Mimi's apartment upstairs. It didn't matter.
He's been there for what two, four months now? Mark lost track of the time.
Roger nudged Mark, "Come on, get up. I need to talk to you, Mark."
Mark squinted at him, "I'm not listening to you." He then rolled back over on the couch.
He shoved Mark on the floor, "That's your problem. Get up now."
Mark got up from the floor awkwardly and shoved him out of his way. He stumbled over to one of the windows. He stretched his hands on the cold windowsill. He leaned his forehead against the glass. Roger came up behind him and put his hands on Mark's shoulders. This time Mark didn't shake him away. There was a slight comfort that warmed him. Nothing else but knowing that Roger was there, could put his mind to rest. Mark was lost in his thoughts. So many thoughts and so many memories ran through him. Roger grabbed one of the bottles that were sitting on the ground.
Roger lifted it to Marks face, "You need to stop this. Things change and you cant stop it."
He jerked around and glared at Roger, "Six years, doesn't that mean anything to you?! Or were you too busy with Mimi?"
He shook his head at Mark, "You don't mean that."
Mark shoved him out of the way and staggered to the door, "You left! You left me here, alone with nothing. I thought friendship meant more."
Roger threw the empty bottle at the wall where Mark was standing, "I'm back aren't I! I'm moving back in are, you happy. Mimi's gone, Mark but you wouldn't know because you've been sitting here getting shit faced."
He picked up another that still had some whiskey left in it, "Hmm, that's a touching story."
Roger punched him in the face. He watched, as Mark didn't react. He just crumbled to the ground, passed out cold. He picked him up in his arms and laid him in his bed. He placed a cover on him and walked back out into the living room. The loft seemed so quiet nowadays. Roger sighed and began to drift off on the couch. Mark was right, he knew he was. He was home.
Roger nudged Mark, "Come on, get up. I need to talk to you, Mark."
Mark squinted at him, "I'm not listening to you." He then rolled back over on the couch.
He shoved Mark on the floor, "That's your problem. Get up now."
Mark got up from the floor awkwardly and shoved him out of his way. He stumbled over to one of the windows. He stretched his hands on the cold windowsill. He leaned his forehead against the glass. Roger came up behind him and put his hands on Mark's shoulders. This time Mark didn't shake him away. There was a slight comfort that warmed him. Nothing else but knowing that Roger was there, could put his mind to rest. Mark was lost in his thoughts. So many thoughts and so many memories ran through him. Roger grabbed one of the bottles that were sitting on the ground.
Roger lifted it to Marks face, "You need to stop this. Things change and you cant stop it."
He jerked around and glared at Roger, "Six years, doesn't that mean anything to you?! Or were you too busy with Mimi?"
He shook his head at Mark, "You don't mean that."
Mark shoved him out of the way and staggered to the door, "You left! You left me here, alone with nothing. I thought friendship meant more."
Roger threw the empty bottle at the wall where Mark was standing, "I'm back aren't I! I'm moving back in are, you happy. Mimi's gone, Mark but you wouldn't know because you've been sitting here getting shit faced."
He picked up another that still had some whiskey left in it, "Hmm, that's a touching story."
Roger punched him in the face. He watched, as Mark didn't react. He just crumbled to the ground, passed out cold. He picked him up in his arms and laid him in his bed. He placed a cover on him and walked back out into the living room. The loft seemed so quiet nowadays. Roger sighed and began to drift off on the couch. Mark was right, he knew he was. He was home.