A little something I wrote recently, entitled:
We’d always visit the same derelict café, on the corner of first and Amistad- Siobhan, Alexei, Donatello and I. We’d sit for hours, sipping our cinnamon lattes, ruminating over the world’s bizarre humor that it brought our quartet together.
Maybe it was a combination of my pennilessness and search for purpose in life that made me do what I did- it was also my profession. One dusky morning at the café, Siobhan strode towards us, seemingly purposeful and positively effervescent. She said- “Here’s the POA, guys.” I looked at her quizzically- there was never an agenda. Siobhan had invites for an exclusive gallery opening at the Opasnyh Studio. None of us were contemporary art aficionados but the exclusivity of it all made it the most coveted event of the entire year. Secretly we all hoped to have our faces printed in the local newspaper so we’d finally have something to write home about. So that night, we set out for the opening with a colleague of mine. Like the meaning of her Vietnamese name, Bian was a rather secretive girl- as her occupation demanded. On our way to the opening, Bian received calls from Diabolos, the domineering boss of the Izmaylovskaya gang of the Russian Mafia whom as spies, we were in the process of declaring a truce with. As his final request, Diabolos wanted Bian and I to annihilate everybody present at the opening.
As I surveyed the gallery, I saw Bian inconspicuously signaling to a man in a grey suit and a tie the colour of amethyst- Diabolos. He had that unmistakable magnesium powder burn on the side of his neck, embossed with his signature stare. His words from our last encounter stung like the icy Siberian wind- “Building relationships will only weaken your objectivity, you should always be an impostor- the phoenix must burn to emerge”. But I was no phoenix and my friends didn’t deserve to die. I whipped out my pistol and shot Diabolos in the chest. But there was one thing that he was right about- I must remain the impostor. And with that thought in mind, I escaped through the backdoor to another city of starry-eyed idealism. I’d be someplace different, sipping coffee with an alternative quartet. A new beginning but once again, I was the intruder.