The night is a mistress of life. It is the hardest time to be alive for, those silent hours bring forth Melancholic air and scandalous actions. In its prime it feeds off of the secrets, schemes and lies made within it, knowing it was only a matter o...
"Everyone sees what you appear to be, few experience what you really are." -Niccolò Machiavelli
CONTINUATION
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We are in the gutter: life can be cruel and unjust, humans can be vindictive and barbarous. I think half of the population has wondered at least one 'who ever said life wasn't supposed to be like this because of how twisted things can get.'
Yet—And I'm not absolutely certain of the facts or the why— in a world filled with misery and pain, we survive because of surprises.
The unexpected, those abrupt moments that catch you off guard, a surprise for a lack of a better word is hope. In the moments where something shocks you, it's like a light shining through dark clouds, just bursts of optimism that can flow through you because you didn't know it all. And that feeling restores a piece of your soul, ruined from the mess and it tells you to push through. That in the end it'll all be worth it.
That's one way to look at it.
Mostly, surprises are annoying. Because to be surprised all the time you need some sort of faith. That things will be different next time, that whatever you anticipate is wrong... Now the problem with this is, faith is a luxury. Only those who have the ability to ignore the world's troubles can have it. They can focus on the simplicity of things and enjoy surprises. But that group of people is very selective.
People like to be prepared. They like to know what's behind the door so they can try to prepare themselves for when shit goes left.
As a doctor, my rule— which is kind of a saying all over—is to expect the unexpected.
There's a little section in my brain that's always thinking of worst case scenarios. I am often wary of others' intentions, a skeptic and a rationalist, and I almost always notice the things I shouldn't. The information gets stored in my brain like pieces to a complex puzzle until they come together.
So within the sixty seconds of initial confusion, I am no longer confused or surprised. In those seconds, I remember how this diner is secluded. It's a place you might stumble upon late at night or know it because you live in one of the dozen tenant buildings surrounding it. I remember the plumbing van that kept circling the diner—even though there was parking six cars up from where Kodi parked.
Outwardly, I looked confused and these men think it's because of their presence.
I know their type: freshly shaved faces, modeling government salary suits and crewcuts, both men evidently from different ethinic backgrounds are feds.
My silence wasn't something they anticipated though. Sharing a look with each other, the man who looked to be hispanic spoke first, "We need to talk."
Invading my space then adding those four words are meant to intimidate me. Instead they make me bored. Even so, I decided to act how they wanted me to behave.
