Look around. Everyone has their lips painted, so you do the same. You choose Rogue Desir, an obnoxiously bright fuchsia that contrasts your pale face. Twist the end and Rogue Desir emerges like a defeated opponent, sullen and concaving after dozens of applications. Set your mouth slightly apart, as if you were to place a cigarette between them, and tediously trace the contours of your lips, being careful not to smudge it against your philtrum. There. You are ready to begin your daily pursuit. Men will pay more attention to you when you ask for help; they will linger on you for an extra second as you walk past them. Don’t forget to take your bag with you before you leave. More importantly, don’t forget to fill your bag with its contents. Take the traffic cone orange bottle of 100 mg Oxycodone and the Tic Tac case filled with 300 mg Vicodin. Oh, don’t forget to take the pill case stuffed with 30 mg Morphine, and the Altoids container you used to store .5 mg Xanax. Snatch the bottle of promethazine syrup – you will use this to wash down these pills. There. You are ready to begin your daily pursuit. Insert the keys in the ignition, and head to the nearest motor lounge. You will need about forty five dollars in cash for a night, as well as your driver’s license. Obediently, these rest in your wallet, waiting for your fingers to snatch them out. Here. You have arrived at a dreary lot which the lounge sits atop of. The dank air of the lobby permeates your senses as you walk in. “Hello,” you breathe out. Use that charm, lean your elbows on the ledge and gently lean in. “A single room for the night.” You can see him eyeing the Rogue Desir. He’s just like the rest: perverted and animalistic. It doesn’t matter, all you need are the keys to your temporary room. 19E. A first floor room. Great, no stairs to trudge up.
The carpet is hideous, a pea green spotted with the ash of ancient cigarettes. The narrow hallway seems to clench your chest with each step you take, and as the numbers on each door progressively ascend to 19, your fingertips become numb as you turn the lock and push the door open. A generic floral painting greets you, and you inhale the stale air as though it were the purest air atop Everest. The mirror adjacent to the bed catches your reflection, and you pause slightly at the sight. You are beautiful. Your eyes glisten with the fragile advantage of youth, and your cheeks are warm with healthy blood. Your hair strays, wild and untamed, constantly altering at your movements. With your back against the headboard, your body sinks into the narrow mattress, cold against the starched comforter. Hmm.. who has been on this bed before you? A man evicted from his home? A lonely truck driver that knows no companion but the road? You are just another number. You are another number to add to the amount of bodies that have rested on this mattress before you, and the number will continue after you. Reaching into your bag, you fish out the plethora of noisy containers and bottles that protest your grasp. Just pile them up next to you – order doesn’t matter, quantity does. Pop open a cap here, unscrew a lid there, and pour a hearty pile of pills into your palm. Don’t think. Just open your mouth, still lined with Rogue Desir, and swallow these pills. Take a swig of the syrup, and you are on your way. There. You have fulfilled your daily pursuit, and you are on your way to escape. Don’t be afraid, let time and nothingness consume you. This, at last, is peace.