Those days

Floating in a shirt bigger than my requirements.
I walked into the cafe, half a bar, almost.
I picked the corner next to the ladies washroom, my only consciously chosen comfort in the room.
The beer glugged to wash my teeth from the way home to the beginning of my day.
The beginning of my day as a publicly announced loner.
I tried.
I lit up and watched the orange turn to blue and then I blew white fumes.
My vision blurred and sooner than I knew it was greyer.
I really don't recollect seeing it turn grey.
I amused myself in the frustration of not getting a lighter beer.I liked starting off with a bud, they're cheaper in wine shops and more flat.
They can make you smell nasty by the end of the day if you didn't wash your breath off with rum and vanilla cigars.
Now some more draught, before I saw the latest english flick to satiate my guilty pangs of the chilly air around the seats of sterling and regal, I almost burnt my lip with the cigarette accustomed to inhaling itself in a exact copy of the previous roll of the lip while I cursed metro for becoming a multiplex, I'd have really paid extra for the buttered pop corn and its nerve numbing aroma.
Coming back to me not wanting to go see the movie, but the want to sit peacefully in an empty ac'd hall with crooning couples that rapidly flashed interest in the steamy bits of the movie and then indulged in some show and foreplay, sometimes it was so disgusting that they found baby talk a turn on.
I just want some peace, really.
But it was okay, it made me feel sick in the stomach about wasting saliva, Id chewed my mints, always precautionary to my surroundings, I liked being that.
Maybe.
Or maybe I was an angry young woman gone punk in the midst of menarche.
I liked my beers, man.
I can just drain more than you, really.
And I don't want to rangeen aaj ka mood.
Thankyou.
That's the thought as it approached time for the wandering deliriums that excruciatingly were in the air because of the peeks of angry grunts of pleasure from my fellow peers.Who would soon be graceful with their presence upto a point of intolerable nausea.
I was busy wondering why Independence and Republic are dry days, Yes, Gandhiji.
But would it have been different if the extremists were given they're rightful credit for involvement in the freedom struggle to an undecipherable beginning of the win over a known rigorous force?
The ironical part being the inspiration from this came from an unknown source that was capable of excavating emotions ingrained and fertilized to a point of eutrophication.
My religion.
My religion says oil the chicken to an extent that its dead body is oozing spiced and tangy masalas and they plainly let the flame work its magic to lighten the skin to a golden beauty of a crust.
CRUSH THEM.
So now we are independent and I can walk into a bar to drink my beer but I'd still be a woman who gets beaten by a brother or is in an abusive relationship.
No, I'm not a feminist when it comes to taking stances.
But if you must be a hypocrite justify its existence to the point of the roots of its being parasital to your own.
Not everyone woman at the bar table is a score.
Not a perfect score.
Not if she's your sister.
Maybe for a sister's friend, for some fleeting respectable thoughts.
The dart free with the crates of haywards, its board hung neatly over the wall, free of marks.
Its spotless existence saddened me to an end that I felt it'd not known how it was to be itself.
I'm emotional, of course.
IT refelcts in every sip of beer to drain my dry throat.

I've been sitting on the table at Leo's and my pencil nib broke because of the story I started off with.
Its shaped perfectly in my head that my pen broke in the vigor to complete.
The incapability eased out as I drained some beer and sharpened my pencil as I smiled at the cute white skinned aliens in my bubble that they were stretching to accommodate themselves, and it made me happy enough as they smiled on and borrowed my lighter while I drained my beer and scraped on to my lined page."

Denial.
Summer of 69.