Mathematics of illusion
The foolishness resounded an uneasy blow when the two realised they were on a highway to uncharted nowhere. The silence of the transport as it snails itself towards the destination proved to be excruciatingly fatal, their hands tied warmly behind their backs and ropes tightly knit around their necks. A cigarette to calm the senses would not suffice if at all. What was necessary to one was to find the intended location and get the responsibility over with the sooner the better, and that find a way to cure this numb folly into oblivion with a faint echo of whisper circling in between the ears and back, like happiness in the spring on a warm day's night on one of London's faithful boroughs. His attire that night was the only thing genuine about everything, and even the hardest button to button was seraphic in terms of symbols hidden between the lines as the burning flow of wine traversed through his throat an hour from then, with all the world to see his lunacy already intertwined with the fate of the faceless voids in the horizon. A charcoal heresy to protrude at the lowest of lows to one's depravity.
And there they were, glancing left and right searching for answers, waiting to be thrilled, assuming the worst has yet to come, after all they have been through and all that they endured. There was nothing left to daunt them. Except probably the image of a lady in red, hiding beneath their hypothalamic senses and prayed, that for them to succeed they must prevail at all costs, and even then she was invulnerable with her desires to burst forth and choke the lifestream off of them. Even at the hardest triumph, success is merely a step to another, and no amount of infinite success would satisfy, not even an ounce, for we are human, and that is part of our nature to do so.
They reached an intersection crossing separating to different lands, unknown territories of places unwanted by a few many, one of which was the answer to that goal, and that a wild guess would have to be necessary if they were to find what they were looking for. A map, for one, would have been orgasmic to relief, if only this guy found a cure to his arrogance and indifference to care.
It took them quite a while to figure many things out. Searching for clues hidden behind the walls in many corners around them, strangers spitting at their utmost indecencies, ogled by mischievous eyes hurdled towards the purple madness. Ignored and hopefully silenced, in minutes past the initial rounds they succeeded, and the clue they relied on was two of his passions, and he dared not try mentioning it by mouth but by heart, because even though privacy was dumbfounded and null to him, the secrecy of having that enigmatic moment to succumb to was overwhelmingly welcoming to his rusted, ischemic heart.
There, with both of them armed to the teeth, they went and put on a show to remember. A dash of sweet scent before the night began was all that was needed to calm the nerves, another thought of smile, and the plastic poise as light as the wine glass at hand to caress the breathlessness. Friends bound to each other at the whim of the moment, they introduced the void to their shadows, and with that came more than intention. It was all about execution and either character enhancement or suicide, whichever floated his boat at that time.
For a moment he forgot the basics in interaction, but in essence of doing so probably gave mark to his presence. He shut the light on his eyes to not see between the governance of philosophy and revelry which had hitherto been all shades of red and gray.