It is a summer afternoon. The city slowly soaks in the stagnant heat of the sun – I try to be impassive. I am consciously aware of my lack of desire to face all that is to come. I step in a regular pace along the shimmering pavement.

To clarify: I stand by the firm belief that communication is impossible. This is the general case; it is, however, amplified in certain situations. Life simply does not cascade like a song – I am a great fan of illusions, but this appears to be too palpable.

Perhaps it is not the general case, but truly conversing with another, being fully understood – comprehending one another on a different level… has never occurred to me – nor will it ever happen. If it becomes eminent, I shall run from it. There is no reason for someone to be able to comprehend me to such an extent.

So he stands there, fingering yet another cigarette in his right hand. He seems unable to comprehend the rational beyond the purposeful glance– I hope he never realizes.

There is another. I can feel him taking me in – determining how to approach.

Both misread me – quite horribly. Perhaps it is all in my head – I may be much more transparent than I believe. I am unable to vocalize my thoughts and perhaps it is for the best.

A discussion ensues: approaching others with positive intentions guarantees a positive reciprocation. As the eternal cynic, I merely laugh at the idea.

I realize that it may be vital for me to change my mindset when approaching this game.

All that so positively built up to this has dissipated… There is no necessity for it to escalate – no need for that intimacy, it still remains from those other nights…

The descending sun, passing time…
A sporadic conversation, a cell phone rings. Spanish is spoken.
The methodology is to relax. Forgo thought; let life encompass, live, take pleasure in it all.

Another joins the group – we can now conveniently disappear for an indefinite amount of time.

The distraction of reality doesn’t help. Foolish behaviour and unjustifiable decisions. Slowly returning downward along the spiralling stairs – this time it has left me unaffected.

Enters the Russian; over a cold beer and harsh cigarettes, all types of men will bond. This specimen is in his early forties. He has a fading but evident accent and the manner of a man who has seen too much. Heavy involvement in the Russian black market and putting into practice a significant number of illegal operations in over forty countries across the world has not helped refine him. He happens to speak around seventeen languages, discusses woman in a particularly vulgar manner. He is here to gamble – to throw money and risk around. The poker game will begin shortly.