Bachelor par Excellence.

I opened my eyes and waited for the room to come into focus. I lay on my back in my sleeping bag, on the carpet, the clear blue sky shining down on me through the mini-blinds. "What time is it?" The clock was of no use to me for it stood on the window-sill, silhouetted in sharp relief against the glaring daylight beyond. I loved waking up to the sky like that. From the floor, the trees and pasture are cropped out and all that can be seen is sky and clouds. And I could be anywhere, my apartment could be floating in the clouds itself or resting on a beach in the South Pacific somewhere. In those waking moments, the blissful disorientation made my heart flutter. I felt like I'd awakened in the foreground of a Salvador Dali painting. I yawned and stretched in my sleeping bag. I could feel the familiar chill of steel in the back of my thigh where the slide of my pistol was pressed against my skin. I unzipped the sleeping bag and withdrew the 0.40 caliber H&K USP. The gun felt solid and heavy in my hand with the tang nestled snugly in the crotch between my thumb and fore-finger. The athletic tape around the grip had been white at one time but had turned brown with the sweat and grime of constant handling.

I set the gun aside on the carpet and sat up, resting on my elbows. My eyes had adjusted. The hands of the clock indicated that it was half past eleven. But this meant that it was actually half past ten because I never changed my clocks for daylight savings. I stood and fetched my housecoat. It was a long, thick, black robe. I called it my "czar robe." It made me feel very aristocratic. It was Saturday and I had no appointments or obligations and the prospect of leisure made me euphoric. I turned and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. "Yes, indeed, very aristocratic." I mused, trying not to look at my unruly matted hair. I flared my neck muscles and set my jaw, making my czar face. My appearance was rather startling for I had the stubbly beginnings of a beard. A red beard. I turned my head to the side and tried to observe my profile out of the corner of my eye. This made me dizzy and I stumbled out into the living room.

I walked to the sliding glass doors and thrust the verticle blinds aside, allowing the sunlight to flood the room. Zoe stood next to me, wagging her tail and nudging me with her nose. " 'Morning, baby!" I yawned as I stooped to pat her head. Turning to face the room, I noticed the Samurai sword in my display case. It was actually a kai gunto (WWII Japanese naval officer's sword.) My grandfather had brought it home with him after WWII. I walked to the display case and drew the sword from its shark skin scabbard. The brass on the hilt was tarnished but the blade was in perfect condition. The steel gleemed in the morning sunlight, blinding me. I settled into a horse-back stance and lifted the sword above my head menacingly before plunging into the grizzly business of slaughtering invisble ninjas. I only knew a handful of Japanese words but these I half-shouted in an angry tone as I chopped at the air. When I was sufficiently exhausted from the carnage, I stopped and let the back of the blade rest on my shoulder. I was a bit out of breath. Zoe had wisely run for cover the instant that the sword had been drawn.

Next to me was the shelf where I kept my humidor. I lifted the lid with my free hand, reached inside, and retrieved a nice fat Nicaraguan cigar. The air in the room seemed stuffy so I stuck the cigar in my mouth and headed for the sliding glass doors. Zoe trotted after me and waited eagerly as I slid the glass door open. She shoved past me and pranced out onto the balcony ahead of me. The air was cool and sweet and the sun was warm on my face. The wooden planks were rough underfoot. The grass in the pasture had already gone gold with the first frost and tufts of dead gorse were scattered about. The wind chimes sang as they always did. I stood admiringly with the sword resting on my shoulder like a musket, the cigar protruding from my mouth, and my left hand buried in the front pocket of my robe. A mocking bird flitted past and I would like to have taken a swing at him with the sword for I was certain that he was the brazen cock sucker that had been defecating on my shiny red Evo.

It was then that I felt the weight of their eyes. I turned stiffly and noticed a crowd of staring people standing on an adjacent balcony. They were clearly dumb-struck. I had to feign arrogance to mask my embarrassment so I raised my chin at them in a stately manner and turned my gaze back to the pasture before me. And then the awkward pause where I counted off the seconds anxiously. I couldn't simply walk back inside after that little showdown, I had to wait. I had to let them know that I was a czar and, consequently, ashamed of nothing. I finally turned very slowly and stepped back inside the apartment. Ah, the amusements and day-to-day experiences afforded by the bohemian lifestyle.