God was Murdered

Here I’m, the greatest pain-in-the-ass perfectionist bastard. But this time I messed up big-time. There is enough evidence that most of the goof-ups weren’t in my control (e.g., kabootar peeing & pooping all over me, twice). I’m gonna stand up & accept me being human (not the Mr Salman Khan 'B eing Human' ). Yes, I screwed up.   After the unanticipated (yet totally clichéd) hassles of IDs, ticket screw ups, train delays & bitch-fighting I arrived in Jaipur. I found myself swimming in the potpourri of glittering (g)old grannies, silicon-encrusted Shobha des & obnoxiously stupid teenagers. The common thread that ties them is money. You got it: It ain’t theirs, they spend it. That’s all that counts. If I weren’t so old (31), grumpy & a classic asshole I would’ve tried to hit on these smoking-hot pies. But I’m as I’m. The paradox is that I’m attracted to them physically but totally nauseated otherwise. I pretend to ignore them – it works. Anyway nobod

 "I love.............." Anisha started saying, holding my hands real tight. ".........someone else" she finished. She finished me. A limousine stopped near my toes. "I gotta go" she said, let go of me & hopped into the shimmering black car. Limousine sped away making a crushing sound. Must have been my heart . It was 11.23pm, 31st December 2002. It was Flinders street station, Melbourne. It was my frickin 21st birthday. The love of my life had walked away, without reason, showing me the middle finger. It was the worst goddamn day of my life. I wanted to vanish, disappear. I shut my eyes for like eternity ( 3 1/2   minutes). When I opened them I saw the - Young & Jackson - bar across the road. I jumped the red light & stormed into the bar. It was filled wall-to-wall. A local band was playing live rock music. At the side-bar, a delicate, pretty, gray eyed brunette sat caressing her martini glass. The guy next to her got up & starte