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Disaster

The narrative explores the complex psyche of a man who exhibits sociopathic tendencies masked by excessive generosity. Set in a café, the conversation between two individuals reflects on love, despair, and the darker aspects of life, intertwined with a melancholic song. The protagonist grapples with feelings of loss and the futility of predictions, ultimately seeking solace in alcohol amidst the chaos of their surroundings.

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amin doroudgar
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9 views2 pages

Disaster

The narrative explores the complex psyche of a man who exhibits sociopathic tendencies masked by excessive generosity. Set in a café, the conversation between two individuals reflects on love, despair, and the darker aspects of life, intertwined with a melancholic song. The protagonist grapples with feelings of loss and the futility of predictions, ultimately seeking solace in alcohol amidst the chaos of their surroundings.

Uploaded by

amin doroudgar
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
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Disaster

He could be a serial killer. He was a semi-sociopath. No empathy,


no sympathy, yet he covered it with excessive giving: gifts, gifts,
gifts. He could be a serial killer if he had the brain. He was just
normal. A family man who sensed a potentiality to go beyond, but
he never figured it out. It smelled blood; it would have deterred
him.
He came into the café, sat on the chair. I was there before. “How
are you? You look pretty fucked up!” “Nothing less, really! Beer?”
“What to do!”
As I walked towards the bar, a band started to play. The singer
was in his 30s, and men in their 30s, as she would say, are the
most beautiful creatures. “Don’t take the road to me! / I am
waiting there for you, / But don’t, don’t take the road for me! / It’s
a long, long way, / I hide deep in the end, / I am waiting there for
you, / But don’t, don’t take the road to me!”
He was looking disinterestedly to the stage after his eyes followed
me walking, immersed in the song. I sat down back on the chair in
front of him.
“I never understood this love. What the fuck really!” “We are living
in a really bad time, it is ok, a sadder love story or whatever. Look
outside man! It is going darker and darker.”
It was a long piece, a lot of solo guitar in between: “You loved
music, my darling! / You bought me flute and harp / You wanted
me to play, my darling! / And yet, you are not here this evening.”
I was already lost when he continued: “Ok, yes, I know, you are
the prophet of disaster.” “Do you want my foreseeing or the
headlines of the day?” “No, that’s your fucking job, I am interested
in the first option”.
As a pundit, all my predictions were false, at least in the short
term for which they were made. Some later proved to be the long-
term truth. I’d liked to say: “I am the prophet of disaster”.
“Oh, don’t, don’t take the road! / I am waiting there for you / But
don’t, don’t take the road to me! / I hide deep, I hide broken / I
am pathetic, my life’s taken. / Don’t take the road to me!”
I was just starting to imagine the scene of the song that he
interrupted me: “So, is it being revelated now?” I did not like his
sense of humor. The song was ending: “I am waiting here for you,
/ I am waiting here for you!” Claps, not that strong.
I used to drink a lot. It brought back you to me. I asked: “let’s go
for something stronger, man. This will bring me migraine tonight”.
He sneered: “sure!”
I walked toward the bar. The band was giving their seats to the
next band. I was not interested anymore.

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