WWWBT 3 – A little bit of Circuit Factory
The nine hours in the office pass so quickly I realize it’s 6 pm and I need to get changed and drive to CF. It’s become a routine, a discipline like the one making a watch wheels perfectly functional, the escape from the daily boredom, the breathe of air dissipating my depressions.
I’m still excited and nervous, even after five months. As if driving to meet a lover. The perfect body. The most perfect blue eyes. The passionate lips, sweet and savage, I can’t get enough of their kiss. One hour of sweaty pain and inhumane exhaustion. That’s Circuit Factory! I’m drawn to it like a fly to a candle flame.
Ok, I have to be honest here. The guys are hot. The ones I like, of course! The ladies… Well, I can’t comment on the ladies, there’ll be a lot of naughty commentaries and unnecessary labels applied. But they are even hotter! The tights, the camisoles, the hair, the sweaty necks, the moans and the groans, the black mats, the yellow mats, the music, the stretches, the sweat… He’s all wet, gasping for air, so close to me, I could smell his breath… Oh, my dear, stop it, you’re going to the gym, remember?
The roads are busy and I’m a little nervous I might be late. I get there in time, fortunately, I chose to get almost killed, I leave the gym with a large grin on my face that could translate into an immense satisfaction…
The evening is peaceful, full of Facebook, trance music and some Johnny Walker. Perfect fuel for a couple of letters that might turn into a couple of words that might turn into a little story…
There’s someone at the door. Tomcat starts pacing nervously in front of it, meowing annoyingly as if it were hungry.
‘Hey, Sweety, what’s up?’
Luca is tired. He pets the cat, drops his backpack on the floor, gets one bottle of water and collapses on the black leather armchair.
‘Oh, you’re watching 300? While listening to Above and Beyond? Interesting!’
His smile is tired.
‘Look at these guys! They must have all trained at Circuit Factory!’
His laughter is tired.
I make him a chamomiles tea and I send him to bed. I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.
Insomnia is back. Nothing works. I try meditating, as I read once in THE MONK WHO SOLD HIS FERRARI. Which I haven’t finished, by the way. After about 100 pages, maybe even less, my skepticism and sarcasm burst like a crazy volcano, covering in laughter and mockery what I had previously read. Some parts got stuck, though. For example, the peaceful place. Or something like that. I tried to go to my peaceful place – that’s a pear tree in the orchard of my grand-grandmother, back Home. The grass is green, there are some small, yellowish flowers here and there, and I’m just lying on my back, under the pear tree, watching the sky. It’s all the peace one need to die. If you aim for a happy death, that is. Gosh, I’m being morbid here.
I turn on the TV. RESIDENT EVIL. Nice. I manage to wake up Luca. Thank God tomorrow’s weekend.