by Samuel Strathman
I pull up at the gas station and fuel up on more of the same, smoking ethanol as I cash out. My head would explode if it hadn’t already.
I leave with my hydraulics the same as they’ve always been. I feel secure yet tired and bored; like driving myself into the void.
Same work. Same buildings. Same clouds. Same nature. Same roads. Same people. Same politics. Same ignorance. Same fuckery.
I ride along the same roads to my girlfriend’s house, hitting the same bumps, hoping to feel something. Anything.
Nothing. I’m still numb.
She calls to me from the balcony. “I want take-out.” I want to feed my soul.
We pick up fried food from the mushrooms goblins and eat it; who doesn’t love truffles?
We go home. Cook meals in the same kitchen, in the same summer heat with the fans going. But it’s still too hot. We’re overheated. We’re oven-ready.
I focus on the meal at hand and love.
Living my best life right now, familiarity and regulating my emotions. Coping in this country of same.
Windows open a crack at most. Can’t draw the curtains without my next-door neighbor sticking their long neck in, their grinning dog beside them. Personal space must be a city thing and a hard concept to understand.
Even with the curtains shut.
They’re always watching.
“Why no talky talk? “Why so serious and silent?”
Perhaps it’s the work hangover and invasion of privacy, a fine line between cruelty and ignorance.
There’s an anime event in Markham. Cosplayers. Shonen. Seinen. Shojo. Josei (without the pussycats). Mecha. Harem. Isekai. Yaoi. Slice of life. Pika pika.
A few weebs ask for my contact information out of politeness more than anything else. Face value at face value.
Being new to the scene means not knowing all the storylines, unaware of all the intricacies, and little fictions that matter to the mega-fans.
This is going nowhere. Can’t make headway without the right head space, the same shit holding me back.
Before I leave, I tell a cosplayer I haven’t been to Fan Expo since 2019.
They back away slowly, maintaining eye contact. Just a bear…or the idea of a bear.
My car finds me in a ditch. Or maybe I find my car in a ditch. One of those. It was me against the same chimera.
The apocalypse isn’t really happening. The same issues blow up in my head sometimes.
I feel slighted by God. Deep down I know it’s all my fault. It’s easy to spin out of control sometimes…I’m losing a loved one as I speak.
I could have been at the hospital had I just stayed. Never started driving. Never changed jobs. Never moved away.
If only I had stayed in the same city that never stays the same for long.
Listening to different music doesn’t change the same job or circumstances surrounding the job or the fact that I still have to wait before registering for online classes. Start times add stress to my best-laid plans. Nothing to do but wait.
I try registering for a course and the screen tells me it cannot complete my request. Contact the registrar’s office. I’ve spoken to the office before and it’s bullshit and they’re bullshit. The same shit comes out of their mouths, glossolalia. They might as well be talking out of their ears.
It will take another week before I am registered when somebody in some department remembers that they have a job to do.
I go downstairs for a break and my boss is sleeping and that’s all right because we are all sleeping. Nobody does their job anyway.
I’m dreaming with my eyes open, and it’ll be over soon. Fingers crossed that I can skip to eight months from now, a face in a book on the subway like old times, in the zone.
A mouse tiptoes out of a coworker’s lunch bag like a testament to the company we low-level employees keep.
One of the men shrieks. Other onlookers stop and stare, feigning surprise. But nothing is new when everything has already happened before.
I follow the mouse, taking a slice of the cheese as I go.
Samuel Strathman (he/him) is a poet, visual artist, and author. Some of his poems have appeared.or are forthcoming in Ghost City Review, steel incisors, Fevers of the Mind, and other publications. His debut poetry collection, “Omnishambles” will be published this fall (2023)
