same to the touch

Getaway

In the dim milky veil of night darkness, he was being squeezed of emotion. Feelings that he had accumulated for months now brought tears to his face, requiring immeasurable effort to hold them back. They were threatening to start rolling down from his eyes, for no one but him to witness. The sun would rise only two hours from now, yet the inability to fall asleep pushed him to get up. He was out of firewood; his axe (a long-time trusty tool in these conditions) looked at him from the corner of the hallway as he got dressed.

Fog was still spread in his yard, like milk foam on top of tea in a cup; apple trees were growing from it, not the ground itself. A heavy axe in his hand made him slouch. Cutting logs into firewood commenced, no witnesses here either. One-on-one, with a trusty tool that is used for its purpose, they were having a conversation. For each word he muttered, the axe gave one word back. One log at a time. A conversation as Socratic as it gets...

As the sun rose — they came to a conclusion. Tears no longer threatened him, as they fell into his embrace. Fog went away, revealing the ground his apple trees (planted by some old man decades ago) grew from.

Water, powder, metal, fire. This simple spell was like meditation (and also created hot coffee and brought about the beginning of rational thought). The last of his tobacco had already been rolled into a cigarette, awaiting its inevitable fate of being transformed into smoke and slight relaxation. He lowered himself onto a chair on his porch and began reading.

Half-a-day later, after making sure everything on the territory of his getaway land was according to his standard, he looked at the car. It still required some work done to it, although mostly cosmetic.

He locked the house, opened the car door. As he dumped his body into the front seat — leather creaked; the car took a short swing side to side — the suspension made metallic compressing and decompressing sounds. One turn of the key, four seconds of the starter whining, and the engine woke up with a roar. A roar that not a single predator in the world produces when awoken. There is no hesitation in it, unlike his dog...

While the car warmed up, he went to find and wake up his pit bull, who probably wouldn't wake up even if a bomb went off in the same room as him. The lazy animal looked at the owner shaking him, got up, and wobbled sleepily over to the car, jumping into the passenger seat.

"A storm is coming."

Analog

"One sudden road closure and a 50-minute drive turns into a three-hour one, Lex, that's how it works out here. Fuck it, just cancel the reservation, try to get one at Analogue instead."

"Alright, what about Lia?"

"She isn't gonna come if it's that late."

"Then I'll tell Dea that we gotta find another day too."

"Sure, sure... How is the project going? Update me."

"I'll tell you when I see you... It's good, perfect even, beating all expectations. I just don't think it's gonna be enough for you, you know?"

"... Yup. And it's not enough for you either, yeah?"

"yeah..."

"Yo Lex..."

"What?"

"Do you think it's healthy — this obsession of hours?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Don't you see it? I work so much that I have to get away alone every two months to the mountains, you work so much that I don't believe you've even had a thought of a woman in a year, before today of course..."

Lex laughed loudly, the microphone and the heavy storm distorting the sounds. The conversation sounded like it was being recorded on an old tape.

"... You are laughing, but I really question this. What are we doing this for? We've got more than enough money, don't we?"

"It's a game, bro... A game of whose ambition is higher. We started like what, five years ago? I got a job first, then you did. I lived on the outskirts of the city, you lived in a different fucking country, having barely enough money to eat and get your smokes... Now I drive a restored Vette and you drive a restored Jag. These cars alone are worth more than some people's annual salaries. We are just competing with each other."

Silence. Window lowered by an inch. Flame. Exhale into the opening.

"But for what? Why? I would go mad without these retreats and you smoke too much... Are you lighting up right now?"

"yeeeeeeees, hehehe... I don't know, I don't know. Probably some complex. Or maybe we just love building cool shit more than we love other things." — he took a long drag — "If not for us, there would be less cool shit, am I right?"

"I guess you are..."

"See? How many people have we seen in the last five years that actually had a concept cool enough you can't stop talking about? Like yeah, our product has been done before, but not with this amount of soul. Most of the other people we've met just have the bare minimum and are satisfied. They think making something transparent, blurred or adheres to any of the latest trends is enough... Can you imagine doing shit like this?! You'd go even madder! You want an analog thing that gives you some type of a calculated feeling, no matter where you touch it. That's..." — another drag — "...why you drive an old Jag and not a new one. Same with your style. Same with the ads you make. Same with everything. That's why... Wait a sec... Yo I gotta go, Drew is calling."

"Alright, see ya at Analogue — when?"

"Reservation is for 01:30."

"Bet."

Suddenly, silence ensued... Heavy raindrops, engine rumble and the Wayne's snoring are taking over the slow burning of a cigarette. A pothole woke him up. He looked up at his owner, questioning why the ride was so long.

"You are gonna see Sofi soon, brother, don't worry..."

Enough words to put the lazy creature back to sleep...