Nothing, part I

"So, how about you?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Yes. Nothing.”

The coversation from the burrito marathon two days ago with some people he didn't know very well played itself over and over again in his head as he sat staring at the wall in his room. It was a medium sized room, with a huge olive green folding table in the center, surrounded by bookcases of different sizes and hues of ash. Clothes were piled up in distinct heaps around the room arranged according to color, and the walls were covered with posters of guitar heroes from the past. There weren’t any guitar heroes anymore. Rock had been dead for years. Three guitars lay on top of a mound of bright orange colored clothes: a red sunburst Washburn accoustic, an Epiphone black Les Paul double cut, and a vintage Gibson SG. All three were still in fair condition, the gloss glistening through sorrowful layers of dust as if trying to maintain a sense of dignity amidst the muck of unfavorable times.

He woke up earlier than he ever had on a Sunday morning, probably due to his change of sleeping habits since he got that new job. He loved his job, and he was just awarded employee of the month, but there was something horribly wrong with his life that he couldn’t really pinpoint. First of all, what the hell was that smell? He decided to ignore it and lit up a cigarette. He couldn’t remember when he started smoking in the apartment. He looked up at the huge “no smoking” sign he tacked to the living room wall, and vaguely remembered throwing out a guest from his 27th birthday party who hid in the bathroom and chain-smoked.

“Where was I last night?” he thought as he performed his daily routine of recapping the events from the previous day. His memory had been failing ever since things worth remembering ceased to exist, and he needed to keep his brain cells active, in fear of forgetting how to return home. It was too far away and the bright street signs were already so blurry that he couldn’t tell whether they were neon or acrylic.

He remembered now, it was another boring party; the ones he kept on looking forward to for the whole week, and then leaving in 20 minutes. He wore his best pinstripe suit, with matching striped shoes, top hat and stayed for an hour this time, because there was a space invaders video game machine in the club. As usual, he won the first place, and as usual, no one glanced over as he did his little victory jig in the corner. Then…

His thoughts were cut off by a sudden cough coming from the back closet.