Little Black Book

*201 Swann Street, 2004* The phone rang again, as it had been for the last twenty minutes. Andy switched on the bedside lamp, blinking rapidly trying to get used to the harsh light. He hoped that the remnant visuals of the rather disturbing dream involving lumberjacks, Alfie, and a rather menacing dog snapping at his legs would dissipate. He wiped the sweat off his brow, realizing that the weird tune he heard in his dream was the phone ringing.   The clock mocked him, as its lights flashed quarter to five. He silently moaned as he reached for the phone. He glanced at Alfie, who was blissfully snoring, his breath reeking of cheap whisky and a swirling concoction of smells which could be best described as a waste treatment facility of a rather popular brand of cologne. The pristine white pillow case wore a darker shade of drool dribbling out of Alfie’s open mouth. Spit bubbles being born and dying out his noxious little orifice. None of which helped Andy lighten up or distra...

*Prologue* It was a quiet night. Much like the ones before that night and much like the ones after that. But something was intent on shattering the silence of that night. Like a naughty kid left alone at home.  The shadows of the night shone off a lonely figure walking across the empty streets, save for a warring pack of stray dogs, piss marking their territory, sniffing each other’s bottoms and trying to climb on top of each other and moving about like an out of control piston. The sounds of muffled footsteps made them flip their heads with perked up ears. The figure slithered through the night, the hemline of its light summer dress flirted with her knee length boots. She pulled the hood over her head and dug inside the pockets searching for something. The cold misty air from her button-like nose caused turbulence in the still air. The territorial pack responded reflexively to this intrusion of their privacy and space and got behind its leader to take the first course of...

I have been thinking about this for quite some time. And by this, I mean, trying to give new images to the alphabets than the ones which are ingrained by rote in my memory. A - The train tracks stretch out for miles. And somewhere out in the distance as you stick your head out of the train, they merrily meet at the questionable horizon. Makes you want to question everything you learned about parallel lines back in school. Fills you with doubt, fills you with hope. The miles stretch on. Somewhere in the middle of all this lies a shortcut, a portal which allows you to switch between your alter egos residing in parallel universes. B – Pair of glasses, Apple bottom, Fly on the wall, a butterfly breaking out of a cocoon or a heaving bosom in a wonder bra. Never have two curves made you marvel at the non – linearity present around you as you watch your gaze shift from the mirror to your own body and then the person sleeping next to you. C – Ear, nose, thumb, a really fat...