What I Learned From A (Probably) Homeless Man (CK3)

[Izulde]

Man this ain't my day tonight
Looks like she's in love and I'm out of luck
That ain't my shadow on the wall
Lord this don't look good at all
That's my girl, my whole world
But that ain't my truck

If I had a truck, I'd be hurtling down the icy deep winter roads, unheeding that I might careen off, smash into a tree, and die to end the pain.

But I don't. I don't have any vehicle at all. So I'm sitting in a snow mound outside my house, smoking a Marlboro Red 100. "Don't trust anybody who smokes shorts," my dad once told me. "They don't have any patience, can't relax or enjoy life, and they're sneaky bastards." So when I took up smoking as a teenager, it was always 100s. I'd smoke weed instead, but this God-forsaken state of eternal winter doesn't believe what half of the rest of the country does. So it's tobaccky that's not wacky.

It hurts to look at the glowing cherry at the end, if you want to know the truth. It reminds me of her hair, both above and below. Fuck. Why did it have to be *him* of all people? That smug bastard who tools around town in a Lexus whether it's 20 below or 80 above? With his pretentious ass smirk and rich boy good looks (or so I imagine them to be - I don't know anything about if dudes are hot or not. Never had an inclination that way). But it is him. I've lost to a rival, and not even with an archery duel involved. No pistols or swords, either. I just lost.

I've been sitting here all night
Wondering what it was I did so wrong
That he did so right
I thought of breaking down the door
But there's nothing left to say;
That Chevy 4x4 says it all,
Sitting in my place

What did he do? What didn't I do? I can't see, can't know. I thought she loved me. Hell, she told me she did, even when I was suddenly struck by panic attacks at the thought of her leaving for him. She'd told me right from the beginning that she was going out with him, she was going out with me. Then she said she'd tell me tonight which one it would be. Yes, just like the damn song. Only she did actually let me know. Via text. I can't look at it right now... I might go bash my head against the brick wall behind me. And it's cream, not red, so the blood stains would stand out and that'd be a mess I'd just leave because I wouldn't know how to clean up and frankly wouldn't care anymore. Not that I care about anything anyway. Elsewise I wouldn't be sitting here in the God damn snow like a lunatic, doing my best not to look at the glow of my smoke.

Cars whizz by too fast for the conditions. The arrogance of living in a place too long. But there's nothing else to do, so I dunk my spent stick in the snow and light another one, watching.

"Mind if I join you?"

Heavy olive coat. Black stocking cap. A beard as big as my pain. Sunken eye sockets behind olive glasses. And oh God. The smell. Unwashed for days, at least. Weeks or months, possibly.

"...Sure."

He plops beside me with a grunt and pulls out a mangled pack of Marlboro Number 27 100s. A soggy stick and a lighter from a pocket and he's joining me in the smoking.

"I prefer Parliament 100s, but the damn stations only have shorts and Kwik Trip is always out, period. So this is what I go with," he offers. "Shorts are a waste of money."

"My dad said never to trust shorts smokers."

"Smart man."

We smoke in silence for a bit. His breath is raspy, ragged, as if his lungs hate him as much as I hate The Rival.

"So, why you out here and not inside where it's warm?"

"My girl chose someone else."

"...I'm sorry. Heartbreak is the worst."

I tap ashes into a random pile.

"I wish I was rich. Or like really powerful. Then I could just have him like, sent to Siberia or something."

"Mmm.." he rumbles before a spastic cough. "That doesn't always work as well as you'd think. Consider the story of..." he stops. "Sorry, I don't want to get started if it'll bore you."

"Fuck it. Why not? Tell me a story, Unkie Ultros."

A genuine, quaking laugh, interrupted periodically by coughs. For a moment, I think he's going to fall over, but he stays upright.

"Now that's a name I haven't heard in a very long time. Fine. Call me Unkie Ultros. As good a name as any, and alliterative."

I don't offer my name. He looks at me a moment, but doesn't ask or offer one for me. Finally, he drags, nods, and stares out into the street.

"All right then. This story takes place long, long ago... before the computers and the cellphones. Before the dating apps and the singles bars. When the world didn't make any more sense than it does now, but life carried on anyway..."

[Cap Ologist]

Looking forward to it!