His first thought as the door slammed was that it was too damn sunny outside. In the movies there would be rain pattering on the windows and a somber song playing quietly in the background to set the mood. But then, this is reality. In reality it’s bright and fucking sunny and he hadn’t smoked a cigarette in hours and he was crabby and the fatass on the other side of the (glass?) partition was listening to an oldies station that was 80 percent commercials. Figures. Yet another example of the universe out to crush what was left of his soul.
Then finally, after an obnoxious DJ lets them all know that they’re listening to the greatest hits of all time, a pleasantly minor guitar riff starts and the singer starts singing about travelling through the desert on a horse with no name. I love this fucking song. And now I have to listen to it while it’s too sunny and I’m pissed off and yes, he admitted to himself, scared shitless.
Then he started laughing. Loudly, almost hysterically. He laughed the laugh of the maniac that his ex-wife told everyone he was and that his friends were too polite to call him out loud. He laughed because he knew, not thought, but knew the universe was persecuting him relentlessly. He needed a way to get away. He needed a break, a place he could go to escape the universe that was after him. He was laughing when the word finally came to him.