Part one: Stop

I'm unequivocally detestable as I lie on this carpet watching the ceiling morph into equally abominable species. I lie here. The spot where I lie seems to catch the heat of my body. If I move I will be sucked into the ground, an above ground undertow. There are people here. If I call myself detestable they are far worse than that. I lack morals, logic, and perhaps compassion for comrades. They lack the qualities that make humans even slightly bearable. I can't stand them, I'd rather be alone with an onslaught of nosebleeds than strike up a fair-weather conversation. So I lie here. I hope they leave soon, they're ruining the moment. Maybe if they stopped talking I would feel better, but they don't. They continue in a monotonous drone. I feel paralyzed, pleasantly. Someone sits next to me, the room is still hazy. A voluminous cloud exits from the person’s mouth, for a fraction of a second the warm lamp disappears behind the smoke. This is nowhere. The person sitting next to me was not introduced, brushing hair out of my face. His face finally materializes. I hear muted footsteps edging toward the door. The Repugnant Society has finally left, dragging what’s left of their gruesome miasma onto the street. Their sizable fault? Their lack of self loathing, the fact they love themselves to death. The fact the only reason they pose questions is to revert the conversation back to themselves. True adversaries in the art of small talk, the only art I would grant them the honour of being part of. I feel the lift of their absence. How refreshing.