Our hero, Sam, is a simple, gentle fellow. The kind whose wheels you can see turning and whose jaw literally drops on each rise of a tale where others would question your honesty. His naivety allows life to shine rather than hold him back because he doesn’t see where events are going to cause the evening to unfold. Where others would turn back, the time simply isn’t taken for consideration and he plows forth into another adventure; not only unknowing of where he will end up, but carelessly wandering through the unwritten night.

The stories of Sam will hopefully unfold here, as I find the time to translate them for you. They’ll be short, and there’ll be others, with lots of my exaggerated vocabulary in between.

the flowers

As Sam groggily awoke he tried to place himself. Many mornings were spent sorting out visual clues as the mist lifted from his eyes. It was early, woken jointly by the rising sun, cold, and uncomfortable bed he found himself in. As he sorted himself he looked down and saw he was sleeping amongst flowers; in fact, in a flower bed. Being a weekday, he searched around for the pieces that were usually missing on this kind of morning: his glasses, keys, telephone. All were fortunately accounted for, and he stumbled upright to gain his bearings.

The walk home was going to be short, he hadn’t gone that far altogether. That was good, being a weekday he still had a job, another life, to attend to. Sam’s personality was the same day or night, booze aside, but the differences between the day and eve were far greater than how he acted; they were his actions. Jobs can stereotype a man, like a blue collar beer after work or an evening at the opera after running a multi-million dollar company. But for Sam, like many others, they’re just something you do. Not because you have to, not that he didn’t have to work. Indeed, Sam had to work to pay the bills, but his actions during the day and those at night where of different worlds. Those living their lives for tomorrow rather than now wouldn’t understand. Sam could call himself a professional during the day and made more than enough to get by, allowing him a certain degree of not having to worry life when the day was over. However in the morning, when the night was over, he had to worry about the day.

After orienting himself and heading in the direction of home he had a bit to work through the memories of the night prior. He had walked home a girl, the ex-wife turned lesbian of a violent drunk that was a roommate’s boyfriend. That alone was enough to make Sam stop trying to make sense of the nights events. There was nothing of that night to be philosophized over for him, just another cascading series of events he hadn’t planned but had found himself in. These situations were so frequent these days that he had grown accustomed to their occurrence without any internal explanation.

Sam simply had gotten drunk, walked a girl home, and woken up in a flower bed. When he’d tell the story, it’d be just that short but prefaced with “Awww man…” It wasn’t where he had planned to end up that night, but he hadn’t actually made plans to follow through on. He simply had a good enough soul that acting on whatever instincts and desires he swept into that night would end in another swirl of dust that he could not have expected.