Fuck the name

Fuck the name (FTN) rocked the insides of Mezz, when I was checked by Mahaveer. “How many beers for you sir?” I smile and bring my hand forward to greet his hospitality. “None! I am out of cash, and friends are on the way.” I tell him about my fucking condition of being broke! Well couldn’t help money is always in shortage, no matter how much you have; moreover it was already 20^th of the month. I just fortunately happened to find this gig at Mezz, reached just in time, not to miss a single string. I consumed all the cash that I had, eat momos cheap and filling, bought a 10 cig pack, and paid 100 for my entry.

Well, inside the pub, slowly and slowly, the weird crowd was gathering. I checked out a few hot chicks in there, yeah they were literally dressed to kill. Smoked a few cigs till the time Stanley arrived and funded the beer. The harsh, ear-drum wrecking music, with all that smoke and alcohol was taking everyone high. I found my self a peaceful (didn’t mean it by noise, but crowd) spot besides the speaker.

Alcohol has a patented effect on me, unlike few others it is not a thing of euphoria for me, but depression. I get into a state of sublime emotions; sadness zooms in front of me. Longitudinal pressure waves traverse through the smoky ambiance creating a holocaust for neurons of my brain. The rod cells transmit a fading glimpse to my optic nerve, which generates electrical impulses to be sent to my brain, which through complex chemical activity determines that it is a white skin. This brings me back to reality, but yet, not completely.

I see a foreigner, a middle aged man, waving his arms in sheer ecstasy. He was accompanied by three little chink girls, who from no angle seemed to be related to that man. I couldn’t resist my inquisitive nature and went on to explore the scene slightly deeper.

The old man held her from the waist and made a move towards her. He treated her like a toy, and touched her in a lewd, yet insulting way. She was one among those millions, deprived of justice and respect she deserved in this ruthless men’s world where women hold a position of pleasure objects. She smiled time after time and the plasticity of her gesture was not obscure.

Money can’t buy everything but sure sex. Men of reckless riches are ones who buy women to satiate their undying libidos. Sex for money is not difficult to obtain, and sex as a business is good, as sex sells a good deal. But same is true for kidneys, heart, narcotics, and all the evil shit. In some of these businesses it is the customer who pays the bigger price, and in others it is the client who pays the bigger price and yes here I am talking about price in terms of morality and not the metal-implanted paper.

I am an analyst, I go to office, I don’t wish to work, I detest my bosses, I feel I am doing injustice to my moral self and I quit the job. I could betray my soul for money so I quit the job. I find a new one which is better. I like the work; I respect my bosses and work hard to yield good results. I love it; I do moral justice with myself.

But where is this scenario in business of sex workers? They don’t like there customers, they don’t like their bosses but still they do their job. There is an absence of moral satisfaction. They don’t do moral justice to themselves. They live by selling their soul.

Making love is a beautiful thing; and beautiful things are priceless, don’t buy them.