Part 2 - Doors of Perception

It was a perfectly balanced life; he often alternated between regret and sin. And often alternated between the men’s room and the bar. In front of the live music. Just like it was some minutes back. Except that news of the gun-shot had spread pretty fast. And then it came back, haunting him like an old tune.

The police were circling around the apartment complex. The lights were twirling and the police had arrived to close another chapter.

But tonight, there was another story. He was far too drunk to figure how best to tell the story.

He pulled himself out of the pub and stood outside, trying to catch the sea-breeze, breathing through his mouth. A few hours later, he would be ok. Except that the police were around.

Death is a real eye-opener, he thought to himself. Apparently, awareness to environment heightens on news of death. He remembered being part of a funeral procession some years back; the flowers growing near the drainage system looked beautiful then. Tonight, he was trying to catch his breath. Idiot.

So he approached the police cars slowly. One of them looked at him with disgust.
“This is no place for you, sir. There has been a shooting.”
“I know. You’ll never catch the killer, though.”
“Why is that?”
“Because the killer is also dead”
“What?”
“Suicide...it's the latest flavour of the month”
“How would you know that, sir?”
At this point, the drunk started laughing.
“I think its better that you go home, sir. You’re in no condition to walk. Besides, this is not a good time to be chatting with the police.”

The police officer was visibly irritated by this fool. Spending hard-earned money on alcohol too expensive to waste by getting drunk, and all he has to show for it is caked stains on his shirt.
“Sir…..please leave.”

And the drunk turned around, and staggered on his left foot. His state was worsened by the fact that he was flat-footed.

There must be a taxi at that time; what time was it anyways? He looked at his left hand. Men who wear watches on their right hand are strange, he was told during his school-days. Not much valuable insights to be gained in school. It’s funny, what startling revelations are to be had when death and alcohol surround you.

There was a taxi-driver sleeping, but the meter was up, indicating that even at this god-forsaken hour, the taxi was ready for business. The city never sleeps.

He entered the taxi and passed out just before telling the driver where he wanted to go. He was pretty sure that the driver would wake him up about ten minutes before he got home.

Next morning, he expected that the death would be all over the papers. Not really; page 3 was very sympathetic to the plight of a socialite who used to sing at parties and was associated with many famous industrialists.

What a sad ending to a life that blossomed with joy and radiated happiness to one and all.

Page 3 got her name wrong. When you die, then you’re really famous.