It was a quick release, but the hook has never left, it sits sickly and deeply within the flesh of memories that nibble away at ones consciousness. Davin felt the strange coldness of loneliness after that departure with Haru, he had plenty of friends, but the coldness was there now. His eyes were opened to a new aspect of what the world offers in its glorious folds of time. He would get a job as a desk clerk at a seedy hotel, it was nothing special, but the flavor of people that would come and go helped feed his need in understanding the depths of what it is to be human. Folks from all over the world would stay there, it was cheap and nearby a few clubs and bars, business people looking tired, seeking rest, and maybe other.
The long waits in between check-ins and check-outs gave Davin opportunity to do some reading, to explore some spiritual aspects of the flesh. He found himself drawn to the Hindu faith, Vishnu/Krishna seemed to move him and so he would bury himself in that cosmic light. As a young artist he was drawn to the amazing imagery and the rich tales of Krishna lifting mountains, fighting multi-headed snakes, and finding perfect love in his consort, Radha.
The evenings were usually quiet after all the six o’ clock check-ins were done and the paperwork was typed, credit cards charged, and receipts set into their proper cubbyholes. Davin stared out the window for awhile and watched cars go by, summer was nearly over and the air had a gentle coolness about it. He would sigh and pick up his book and stare at the cover, Krishna doing his dance upon the heads of Kaliya, he was just about to open the thick book and continue his search into the life ever after when the phone rang. He answered it as usual, in a very casual boyish tone “Royal West Inn, Davin speaking,” a woman at the other end was speaking in hysterics, she asked for coffee and to call for an ambulance, she gave the room number and hung up. For a brief moment, as it would be for anyone, he thought, what the fuck? He put on the coffee, took the front desk keys and locked the place up while he went to confirm this as some sort of hoax. His pace was quick, he even had some adrenaline surging through him as he made his way through open air, down the paved walkways to the room at the far back end of the hotel. As he turned the corner there was a woman with a young girl leaning heavily onto her shoulders, the woman saw him, “she took sleeping pills, we need that coffee, and an ambulance.” she said in a calm and nervous voice. Davin nodded and without an exchange of words he darted back to the office and made the call for paramedics and rushed coffee back to the young girl and her mother.
After all was said and done, Davin had six more hours to sit in that office and stew at the thought of someone taking their life. All of a sudden the rich paintings and colorful tales of Krishna took on a darker note of spirituality and what it means to live. Over the days, weeks, and months he would take more to the drink of alcohol and the sweet smoke of a good joint. Drawing became more than producing an image, it was now the extermination of everything happening around him and within him. It was now a creature stuck to his arm that heard all the nonsensical conversation, the insults, put downs, and belittlement’s that slowly pushed him further and further into the heavy darkness of the soul; and that in turn had him drinking more to stop the sensation of madness that began to show him doors and windows. It was evident that life was not a friend, it didn’t care whether or not you were rich and famous, a perilous adventurer, creative artist, or homeless and hungry, it beats us all down equally without bias.