For American Psycho´s Sake

Deep inside I somehow realise it´s not the first time I wake up out here, disoriented and lying on the dust in the surroundings of this same rest area. Funnily enough, I can´t tell where exactly it is located. Not near any city, that is for sure. I can see freeways, cars passing by at high speed. Not any buildings, though and no people either. I don´t remember much about anything; my car can´t be far away, I remeber parking it somewhere underneath a bunch of stars if that´s any clue at all.

I think about your eyes, they are smiling and they whisper "You know, don´t play it coy".

Waving my hand around my head, trying to make the smoke I imagine your reminder as disappear I mumble "Yeah, yeah, I know, it´s all your fault. Or better, mine ´cause I can´t help loving you no matter what a bitch you are". And we both know, she is some bitch.

As soon as I climb the stairs of the bar´s entrance I´m struck with a sense of welcome. It´s odd but, in a way, this place feels like home. It is deserted, but just as if everyone had just vanished seconds ago: it´s all neat and clean, there is recently made coffee coming out of an spresso machine, and half-eaten food on the tables.

Why is this, that I feel so comfortable here, so sure that this is the place, the right spot, as if I belonged here and nowhere else?

It could be because this lonely landscape reminds me of the desert I grew up in. Probably has something to do with the fact that I have always found peace in lonely frontiers, those which could have just been torn off from any given southern song about lost, drunk cowboys riding without direction, yet always advancing to their own death and oblivion. I kind of wish I could find mine, because you sure wouldn´t been able to chase me that far and that´s good enough for me, no matter what it means in the end.

While I hum a tune that sounds suspiciously familiar to Knockin´On Heaven´s Doors but isn´t I head to the bathroom to wash the dirt off me and clean myself a bit.

It seems OK, it even smell fresh, which is good but really means nothing about how healthy it really is. A piece of paper hanging on the wall says that María cleaned this place at 8 AM and Cristina and Joana did so at 10 AM and 12 AM respectively. Now it´s two o´clock in the evening.

There is a shower booth in the left corner of the room, near the urinaries.

At some primary stage of my being I know that, as this is not the first time I live this situation, I will probably wake up on the same road again soon and this will happen all along once again, who knows how many more times.

So, I guess, the only question remaining is how much can I trust Joana.