The woman on the news just kept on blabbing out words that were aiding my irritation. I felt like kicking to my feet, grab tighter the bottle in my hands, and launch it straight at the TV... Cmon, who cares about the weather?... Who, when you ain't my grand ma?

"California... Michigan... Ohio... Ontario..."

I'm sure she had mentioned all the goddamn places in the United States.

"When is she gonna shut up?!"
At this point, I was aching with hate. I flipped my head to the blonde woman on the TV, and shot her a dirty cold look... "Die bitch, die!"... Those were the silent words of my stare. I'm certain she must have felt the electrifying coldness of my hate.

"On other news,"

Thank God! Something I was waiting for, an actual broadcast, from a man. He didn't look a bit above forty, and his twenty dollar suit was doing justice to those wrinkle attacks on his face. The ease on his face showed he came prepared, or experienced, and with the same poise did he continue his speech.

"There was a robbery at a local bank this evening, and the police has estimated the amount looted by these men, to be around five hundred thousand dollars. The culprits in this case were seven armed men... "

He kept ranting on about the robbery, a protest, some economic stuff, but...

"That's the nine o'clock news, thank you, and have a merry Christmas."

... But nothing came up about what happened at Graceland that night. I doubt the media even knows about it, how sad.

I hoped for a little spotlight from the media, a time to be a celebrity, even though its for a few days..... Damn! Should've seen how I had you. I'm just joking around. The last thing I'd want, was that. No media, no news, and definitely no spotlight.

It worked out perfectly, I was hours away from the mental facility, and it was just me, on a waist-long stool of a bar, slowly sipping a bottle of some drink I knew I wasn't gonna pay for.
The reason I went in, was to let loose a bit of steam; free the jumbled up emotions cringing within me: anxiety, fear, excitement, sadness. I was a huge load of dog crap on the inside, and alcohol was my attempt at a little reality escape... Even though stuffs like this is only a temporary high, that eases for a bit, and once you're all sober, all the things you've been trying to bottle down, returns like a bad pimple, it was still worth the try. I guess I understand why people become addicts to narcotics, weed, and drugs generally, they keep going back for more, in order detach themselves from earthly burden, and remain in a state where they can truly find illusionary peace –I don't recommend it, but from a perspective, you truly can't blame some of them. Honestly, we're such a sad existence.

Blaring-ish sounds from the TV, blinking rainbow lights at a corner of the pub, the heavy lingering smell of tobacco and vomit, made me too sober to be taken up in grace by the drink stuck between my lips.

"An escape from reality? What a joke!"

With all said, I gotta move. What's next?
I kept asking myself, as I narrowed my eyes, staring deep to read the tiny words on the bottle I held. But then, it hit me.
"I'm a woman, and my whole me is an asset any sober man is willing to pay for."
And I didn't mean prostitution or any of its related trade. I meant men. I possessed everything to trap one: my stereotypical weakness was one of my greatest strength. Men love to feel powerful when it comes to women, and they love expressing their superiority when it comes to damsels in distress, so why not use that to my advantage.

"Lazing around here, with a bottle of what ever I'm drinking, won't solve nothing."
I turned to the bartender, and when I noticed he was engaged with another customer, I decided to use that chance to slip away undetected, but...

"Hey, watch it!"

She bumped into me, making me to lose the little sip of alcohol I had left in the bottle, as it fell to the floor, shattering, and now she's cautioning me, telling me to ''watch it".... The nerves!

My eyes quickly made a quick scan of her, moving from the soles of her shoes, to the tippy top of her wig. She was a white hoe, and I could tell. Wearing an inch high heels in a bar would tell a different story, but having about three or five inch column right under your feet, in such a place, spelt out the whole sequel. Her skanky crop top, and what she called a skirt kept screaming "queen of hoe-dom". Even her overly applied mascara, draped foundation, glimmering cherry lipstick, and her ten dollar purse she had been carefully hugging, made me pity her more.

"Excuse me?" I said, still completely covered in surprised from the first word she said.

After she made a quick glance at me, her mighty queen spewed another trash from her mouth.
"You look terrible sweetie, have you been feeding well? And your clothes are a bit unsuitable for this establishment too."
She came closer, and had her hands on my shoulder. I think that was her way of showing empathy, or sympathy, while vaguely mocking me.
"Honey are you alright? Are you a hobo? I don't believe it, you're a hobo. Oh my gosh!"

I slapped her hands from my shoulder, and gave her something warm too.

"Don't get all high on me bitch, be slappin' your titties like some rich white girl on a froyo machine, wriggling those buns behind you as if you're some big shot broke stripper, who makes two hundred dollars per night, but is still crushed by bills in the real life."

They were shades, and nothing rocks my black world than throwing them.
Although I wasn't originally this sky high crazy loco Naomi, I used to be the church girl Diana Ross kind. Melodramatic at times, simple, a tiny bit intelligent, shy, and a little black girl who was all up on her feelings, feelings she preferred hiding most times. I guess being raised by lawyer, and a college lecturer had its toll on me. We were groomed to be perfect kids; say good morning every time you meet an adult, don't leave empty jars in the fridge, clean your room, change your underwear daily, and the all wanna be "no thug and hood" life. And swearing? Nigga, you wanna get hanged? We never dared use any bad language at home, only proper English as deemed etiquette.
We were perfectly whitewashed.

Situations changes a man, and this Naomi version two, was the end product of a nasty one.

"I was only looking out for you."
She started yappin' again.
"And besides I'm not the one looking messed up like a psycho who just escaped an asylum."
This girl had no idea how right she was.
"The only thing different about you, is that hoodie you have on, but I guess even hobos wear glass slippers."
Praise the hoodie, I was glad the big swallowing thick hoodie, made a nice effort at hiding the obvious... Or did it only spell out the obvious?

"Well bitch, my life, my shit. Ain't seeing where you fit into the equation."
But she wasn't wrong though, I was a mess, and I needed to get out of that place before I draw any more attention to myself.
"And sweetie, mind your goddamn business, and go give some dude a lap dance or something. Use that skinny ass of yours, and make enough money to buy yourself a padlock for those lips, and some fuckin' glasses, 'cause you clearly need them too."

She couldn't say anymore, only to watch the sweat soaked, bruised and tired old me walk out of the bar.

Isn't it nice, I went in there to get a bit of something to clear the foulness in my mind, but rather, I got to eat both the chocolate crunchy biscuit half, and lick the sugar part of my oreos. So nice! It gave me a new set of mood: confidence, something I needed to launch me high enough to take my next step.

"Hey there, I couldn't help but notice. Are you doing okay?"

I'd be damned, fate had just handed me my price, only that I didn't know it at the time.

"I'm fine. Excuse me."
I left into the blizzard, his eyes fixed on my back as I walked farther, slowly merging myself into the shadows and darkness of the night.

I guess my subconscious had told fate that I wasn't ready yet, and she was right, I was no where ready to meet the man I had seeking to enact my vengeance on just yet.

Still, I had no where to go, and with the cold and snow, it was only a matter of time before some crazy shit happens.