Shit Towne.

I am a ghost now.

I am a cross legged, coffee drinking ghost sitting circles around himself, I am far from home and remembering the first time i was a ghost.

It was in my second year of university and most of my lectures were in this large metal building that looked like a library devoted entirely to books on unsolved murders and maybe a small selection on the architecture of slaughter houses.

And i was having trouble, not that i would ever admit it, I was having trouble just being around other people, especially people on my course, I had entire days where if someone came up to me and tried to make small talk i would just say something really loud about how i had to go, i would then skip lectures and go back home, or just pretended i had to go do something else and walked around trying to make myself as small as possible in a corner of the library.

When i wasn’t at home or hiding i was walking, i walked around a lot and smoked a lot and drank a lot of 73p (may have been 83p) coffee and then smoked even more to cover up the shakes.

And then one day i found it, my own space. It was on the third floor of the metal building, the floor that was under construction for the entire time i was there. I’m honestly not even sure i was up there, maybe some one made eye contact with me and i got all spooked and scampered off in a random direction, who knows, who cares, all that matters is that i’d found my home.

Home was unfortuantly a concrete bathroom that didn’t have working electricity most of the time, but what it lacked in lighting it made up for in having a disgusting looking couch. And it was perfect, i quickly gave it a name, Shit Towne, the e is important, and moved in.

Every hour, every gap between lectures i would sit up on that couch, reading, studying, trying to teach myself to draw by sketching out the chicken shop that was the only thing you could see out of the only window in Shit Towne, it was great. I could relax, i didn’t have to worry about anything as long as i was there, i could just be.

I think your number ended in 135, why can’t i remember that any more, fuck.

I became a ghost, haunting a concrete room with a cubicle, a couch on the other side and a broken urinal, but i never really noticed it until one day while i was sitting on the couch reading through some book when i heard the creak of the door.

I froze up, i sat still, i wanted to peek round the cubicle to see who it was but what if it was finally a builder, how would i explain building there, maybe i could say i was also a builder, or an electrician. But then i noticed feet and there was the creak of the cubicle door and then violent shitting.

Which was disconcerting for two reasons.

  1. They didn’t keep toilet paper up here, so what was the person going to wipe with? (I brought my own from home thank you very much)
  2. I was sitting an inch away from someone violently shitting.

It took everything i had not to burst out laughing, instead i just bit my lips really, super hard and kind of vibrated weirdly, which is probably way creepier than just leaving, i mean imagine shitting with the sound of someone vibrating right next to you for almost a full minute compared to the quick sound of footsteps getting the hell out of there.

Anyway, after a minute or so the dude flushed and left, i like to think he knew i was there and that’s why he didn’t wash his hands, just so he wouldn’t have to meet my eyes, or he was just gross, either way he wasn’t my type of guy.

And i kind of realised there and then that i was a ghost, kind of there, kind of not, in the sense that i am invisible enough to shit next to without any one realising i was there, and i’m not sure how i feel about that, how i feel about any of this, i like being hidden, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel weird sometimes.

But right now i’m a ghost again, i’m sitting in a library, just another dude with glasses who looks like he’s trying not to cry, and it feels okay.


Author: angus macnaghten

cynical and cyclical, hit me up,

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