John's Room

Some years have passed, and John keeps waking up in the same mourning.
With the same half-closed eyes that don’t let him see the sun outside the window, and the same tears sliding down his cheek bones without any specific feeling; in the same mourning, perhaps for the rest of time. Tomorrow, he’ll wake and this time make an effort to find his clothes so that he can forget about his room and its web of self contradicting thoughts that the spiders purposely built on the walls while they wait, and wait, and wait.
-- I’ve tried trusting me; I’ve tried to forget the spiders- John said to the mirror in the car. He reaches the door, grabs the door-handle, opens and closes it three times. On the way to work at the furniture warehouse, there was really nothing to think about; it was time to work. Just had to make sure the car had enough gas to make it there and back. Check to see if he forgot to put his socks and shoes; and his self contradictions aside. Two street lights before he got there, he made a left turn heading south on a street he had never taken before. He drove for about twenty five miles, found a bar and stopped for a drink.
– I’m broke!—John realized while digging in his wallet.
He went in, took a seat near the bartender and saw there were only five cigarettes left; took one out and asked.
-- Hey, you got a light?—
-- yea —
-- would you mind? --
-- Yes, it’ll be five thirty cents, please--
--does the lighter come with a drink?
The bartender smiled and his rotten, dark yellowish teeth stared right through his veins and decomposed anything that was left of of him.
There he was, just another John wasting his life; unsatisfied like any other name that still breathes. From time to time a small talk with the bartender took place; conversations that didn’t take neither of them to a conclusion of anything, just voices collapsing against each other sparking a dense and gray lost thought in the smoke that covered most of the bartenders face. --John, or I? Where is the I before John? still think there are two of us or actually none. Sometimes this conclusion makes me think we’re just space. I think I’m drunk and I haven’t had a drink! -- John started thinking of his room and how does it behave without his presence, how would the web of thoughts be useful without the spider. Would it exist without me? Can it exist without me?
He stared into the bartenders eyes and said.
-- I’m dead, don’t you notice you old fool? --
--Get out of my bar, you nut! --
John started laughing knowing that when he gets back to his room the spider on top of its web of thoughts will be waiting as it always has been and once more the unbearable stillness of his room will choke him till his last breath, suffocating his most delicate thoughts, till he wakes up with tears sliding down his cheek bones with no specific feeling.