Lab 4 - Abhishek
(Mirroring Sudarshan's koraakaagaz lab. Don't think it turned out that great, but wtf!)
Damn it! - Where's that goddamned galli no. 17 ? Isn't that what Maya had said ? 'Satara pe khatara' . Cheeky, he thought and definitely uncalled for. Maya could never quite comprehend what was chic and what was not. Anyway, he had a godforsaken address to find. DefLep throughout the night! More than he could stand up to.
He slid past the brilliantly lighted Diwali streets. The rows and rows of twinkling bulbs and throngs of merry-makers, shoppers. A suffocating lithos and a magnificent atmos. Strange. A silver mist,though seemed unnecessary to distinctly separate the two. Wtf. Ah! here's galli 16, Nana Peth. So 17 should be around the corner. 16 wasn't too good looking. Infact, it almost looked to have been beaten to it's current 'black-blue' appearance. It merely seemed to squeak out whatever it was that it was suppossed to tell. The galli no, the area, survey no - crap! here's 18, where the fuck is 17. Those irritating kids must've been blocking the way. He back-tracked.
No kids. They seem to have vanished leaving behind a thick cloud of miasma. Chuck it, how the hell did i miss that? Normally peths didn't have large, reflective, green coloured signs with large friendly letters. Yes, 'large friendly letters' - where've I heard that ? And it was screeching out the number. Seventeen. Hell, I even hear an electric guitar. How did I overlook that? Must've been the haze, of voices.
He entered, what was for time of the year a quite uncrowded lane. He saw a gory ensemble. He looked at the mirrored red blouse, unashamedly in view against a backdrop of almost visible black locks. Head down, straight ahead. Did it have to be here ? But then 350 bucks a month! That was cheap. Struggling artists can't even beg with dignity on large boulevards or open avenues. Begging required a different skill set in different locales. Which way was it? Hell, the prositute was trailing him. He quickened his pace. A step a second, then two, then three . . . Where the fuck was Suditsu Bar. Look around for weird red chinese signs. There couldn't be many. 5 minutes of heart-wrenching cat-mouse game. He looked behind. The prostitute seemed to have slipped away. Strange he thought, didn't see any alleys down the way. Ah! there it was, Suditsu Bar, in red 'chinese' font - more probably another seedy joint in a seedy locality. 350 bucks a month. He knocked at the door. "Password". Yup, this is the right place. "Hysteria" - "Come one in". The only piece of useful information Maya had given. Dave was known to be a stickler for such issues. The hand that lead him through seemed to be female. Umm... mirrored reds seems to be the latest trend.
Dave seemed really nice on first sight. Strangely, but not unusually he had his shirt off, his chest a showpiece of thick black overgrowth. He gave getting in one's hair an entirely new meaning. I was asked to sit right beside him. He asked me pick up a piece of paper fallen at his feet. I bent down. His chest-hair suddenly seemed to be moving, a crawling mass of thick black worms. The red woman, appeared in full view - to reveal a million figures on her blouse- long slender body, blond-black hair and a snake's tiny multi-coloured blue eyes. The speaker's blare. Shit! 'Die Hard the Hunter'. Did he have to be Clark's greatest fan?
Damn, that white mist again . . .
Damn it! - Where's that goddamned galli no. 17 ? Isn't that what Maya had said ? 'Satara pe khatara' . Cheeky, he thought and definitely uncalled for. Maya could never quite comprehend what was chic and what was not. Anyway, he had a godforsaken address to find. DefLep throughout the night! More than he could stand up to.
He slid past the brilliantly lighted Diwali streets. The rows and rows of twinkling bulbs and throngs of merry-makers, shoppers. A suffocating lithos and a magnificent atmos. Strange. A silver mist,though seemed unnecessary to distinctly separate the two. Wtf. Ah! here's galli 16, Nana Peth. So 17 should be around the corner. 16 wasn't too good looking. Infact, it almost looked to have been beaten to it's current 'black-blue' appearance. It merely seemed to squeak out whatever it was that it was suppossed to tell. The galli no, the area, survey no - crap! here's 18, where the fuck is 17. Those irritating kids must've been blocking the way. He back-tracked.
No kids. They seem to have vanished leaving behind a thick cloud of miasma. Chuck it, how the hell did i miss that? Normally peths didn't have large, reflective, green coloured signs with large friendly letters. Yes, 'large friendly letters' - where've I heard that ? And it was screeching out the number. Seventeen. Hell, I even hear an electric guitar. How did I overlook that? Must've been the haze, of voices.
He entered, what was for time of the year a quite uncrowded lane. He saw a gory ensemble. He looked at the mirrored red blouse, unashamedly in view against a backdrop of almost visible black locks. Head down, straight ahead. Did it have to be here ? But then 350 bucks a month! That was cheap. Struggling artists can't even beg with dignity on large boulevards or open avenues. Begging required a different skill set in different locales. Which way was it? Hell, the prositute was trailing him. He quickened his pace. A step a second, then two, then three . . . Where the fuck was Suditsu Bar. Look around for weird red chinese signs. There couldn't be many. 5 minutes of heart-wrenching cat-mouse game. He looked behind. The prostitute seemed to have slipped away. Strange he thought, didn't see any alleys down the way. Ah! there it was, Suditsu Bar, in red 'chinese' font - more probably another seedy joint in a seedy locality. 350 bucks a month. He knocked at the door. "Password". Yup, this is the right place. "Hysteria" - "Come one in". The only piece of useful information Maya had given. Dave was known to be a stickler for such issues. The hand that lead him through seemed to be female. Umm... mirrored reds seems to be the latest trend.
Dave seemed really nice on first sight. Strangely, but not unusually he had his shirt off, his chest a showpiece of thick black overgrowth. He gave getting in one's hair an entirely new meaning. I was asked to sit right beside him. He asked me pick up a piece of paper fallen at his feet. I bent down. His chest-hair suddenly seemed to be moving, a crawling mass of thick black worms. The red woman, appeared in full view - to reveal a million figures on her blouse- long slender body, blond-black hair and a snake's tiny multi-coloured blue eyes. The speaker's blare. Shit! 'Die Hard the Hunter'. Did he have to be Clark's greatest fan?
Damn, that white mist again . . .
posted by Abhishek at 8:47 pm
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