chain story.
My keys are not in my pocket. I’m standing in front of this stupid, peeling, old, rented door and my keys are not in my pocket. The welcome home sign, with its fading letters and pretentiously bright birds is mocking me. Come on, come on, think! The possibility of dropping it when I paid for the cab strikes me. Did I pay for the cab? I call Varun “ My keys are not in my pocket, did I pay for the cab?” He cannot remember. The stone on the pavement is unyielding, so I stare into the rotting mulch of the gutter. The ancient sleeping watchman has not noticed anything. The man would not spot trouble if it was sitting on his nose. The building I live in is old, with bad plumbing and crumbling walls, but I think the watchman here can come a close second in both aspects. I climb back up to my door. My bag is missing. Oh this is just brilliant- my keys are not in my pocket, and my bag is missing. My bag, which has my wallet , my Airpods, my Mac, and my sanity, is gone. The stone tiles are cold and the one light in this stupid thieving corridor is threatening to give up. My bag is gone, along with my keys, which are missing. I can’t go home without my keys and I can’t go anywhere without my bag. The trash that my neighbour has so generously placed in the centre of the corridor reeks of rotting meat and vegetable peels. There is a distinct blackish liquid oozing out of it, snaking along the centuries old layers of dust towards the stairs. Transportation requires money, or a Metro card, both of which were in my bag. I wipe my hands on my pants. No bag, no keys, no wallet , no nothing. My boss was right, I really am incapable of getting a simple task done. Like getting into my house. Ma used to say the same thing. I am stupid, like this door that will not do its job. How pathetic everything is. Wait, not everything, just me. My life. And it’s not even situations like losing my keys and my bag and everything else. It’s never going to get better, because of how stupid I am. It is me and my stupidity and my incapacity to do anything that lands me in these situations. I will probably never stop being stupid. I will always keep messing up and ruining my life and being a nuisance to everyone around me. My face is wet. God, am I actually crying? Sitting on this dusty crumbling corridor and crying, there really is no end to how pathetic I can get, is there? No keys, bag gone, wallet gone, crying on the corridor floor. How do my friends even tolerate this? I am stupid, dumb, pathetic mess who loses his keys, and his bag and his wallet on the same day.
There is a soft clink sound as I pull out my handkerchief. I look down. On the floor, right next to me, are my keys. Seriously? The other pocket? I really am an idiot. As I let myself into my house, Varun calls. He found my bag in the cab, he has it, I can take it tomorrow. I need a glass of water.
