want your parents to see you hanging out with. So I called up all my friends, begging for assistance of a financial nature, and the thing with friends is that money is not in the dictionary of their language. I don’t really blame them; even I wouldn’t lend me money. But I have to admit, some unsavoury words were exchanged, mostly from me, and it’s safe to say I deleted some contacts from my phone that day.

So there I was, between a rock and a hard place, I believe, as the saying goes. Now any smart, sour chap would go straight to his parents for help, but me, well I ain’t sour and definitely am smarter. So what’d I do? Well, there was this guy I’d loaned a couple hundred to. I thought maybe I’d hit him up, give him the whole “interest” speech, and finally get out of this mess. Yes, I know, ‘tis a dirty thing to do. But I ain’t the cleanest of creatures, metaphorically speaking, of course.

I tried calling him, but the bastard had switched his phone off. I mean, who in their right mind switches their phones off in this day and age? So I thought if the phone’s off then at least he’d be online on Facebook, but no, the idiot had gone full old school. I hate those sorts of people. But hey, that’s just me, a modern man in a modern age. So a little trip was on the schedule. That’s cool; I didn’t have anything to do that day anyway. I mean, there are only so many funny videos you can watch on YouTube before you get bored of laughing.  The human spirit cannot be tamed by a computer now, can it? I think therefore I am, some Frenchman said. And a breath of fresh air’s good for the old think tank. But oh, as soon as I hit the streets, boy was I wrong. Now the thing about Kathmandu, or any major metropolitan city, not that I’ve been to many, but imagination and all that, wait, what was I saying? Oh yes, the thing about Kathmandu is that the air is not really air anymore. What I’m trying to say is that when you breathe in the city air you’re breathing in the collective breath of almost all the people in the city. You’re, technically, breathing in all their coughs, sneezes, laughter, wheezes, and sighs. Disgusting? Yes, but also kind of beautiful. Yeah, that’s me—a big, sentimental softie.

Kathmandu is my city, you see.  I was born here. I was bred here. I know every lane, every street, and every dirty path in this city. I love it. Yes, it’s dirty, disgusting even. It’s filled with rude people who spit everywhere; beggars, really ugly beggars, who shit in unseemly places; a dirty, god awful dirty, river flowing through it; noise as if from the torture chambers of hell itself, and public vehicles that will kill you.  But what can I say? This city is a whore. Yes. But it’s my whore, my fallen Madonna, my Black Venus. The city you grow up in is like a part of you. You carry it with you wherever you go. And I ain’t a hypocrite, I’ll say it, I love my city and I’m proud to belong to it. Anyway, oh, I’ve gone off topic. So yeah, I decided to go to the guy’s house and get the money myself. Maybe put the fear of God into him if necessary. But I was certain it wouldn’t go that way. The guy was a total loser.

Yeah, the guy was a total loser. I don’t recall his full name. He was really effeminate, a total nerd. I don’t really have anything against nerds. I’m friends with some of them, and a bit of it myself. I mean, I read comic books and all.  But this guy was a total N. E. R. D. He had no friends, he used to eat alone, and the only time I ever heard him speak was when he answered the roll call.  Yeah, he used to get good grades, but his face was really pimply and bloated, and he just had that self-loathing aura. By the way he acted you could see that he really, desperately wanted to impress everyone. But that is how the mighty fall now, isn’t it. I mean, trying to impress everyone is all well and good. It’s human nature. Everything we do, we do to impress. Be it ourselves or others, it’s all the same. But the thing is you have to admit it. The moment you admit your shortcomings, other people don’t really have any power over you. Yeah, it’s true. It’s a philosophy I live by. Write that down. But this guy, well, the way he acted was like he wanted to impress everyone in a very arrogant sort of way, and generally speaking, people can pick that up quickly, and they detest it. So, in the end he got bullied. And one day, at the end of school, he was locked up in one of the toilet stalls. I had returned to school because I’d forgotten my phone there. I went to pee, and I heard a strange sobbing sound coming from one of the stalls. I went to check, found the door locked, opened it, and there he was. Little boy lost. Face all red, shirt most likely torn, I don’t remember, and with a split lip. I felt sorry for the guy, so I loaned him a couple hundred to get a taxi and go home. Imagine what would have happened if I hadn’t got there. The cleaning crew only came around dusk, the poor guy, but not a word of thanks. If I hadn’t felt really sorry for him I’d have kicked him. But hey, like I said, I’m a sentimental soul.

So there I was, on the way to his house to get my gold. Sorry, I get medieval sometimes. So anyway, there I was. I rehearsed once again what I was going to say, buttoned up my shirt all Keanu Reeves like, and knocked on the door. I told his mother I was a friend, and the look on her face, oh God, she was really surprised—emphasis on the really. For a moment I felt pity for the dude and almost turned back. But I really needed the money so I did all my helloes and namastes and walked up to his room, which was on the top floor of a really tall house. The stairs were one of those circular, winding ones, and I remember I suddenly started singing Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven. There’s a lady who’s sure all that glitters is gold. Anyway I went up there, and damn, I could smell weed a mile off, man—perks of living on the top floor. Dude was so high he didn’t even notice when I entered his room. I shook him and gave him the whole “interest” speech, and the look in his eyes, he really didn’t care. He pointed towards his drawers. I opened it, found his wallet, which had loads of cash, but I took only what I needed. The guy was just so pitiful! As I was about to leave he looked at me and said—”Hey you know that Bowie song? Ashes to ashes, fun to fudge it.” Yeah, I replied. I like that song. But I think you got the lyrics wrong. “In the end, we’re all going to be ashes, right?” he said. He was really tripping so I just tapped him on the head and left. “See you in the next world,” he said. After I walked out the door, I think I thought I heard a sobbing.

I went downstairs and said my goodbyes to the parents. A bit of small talk ensued. I walked out the gate and after a few steps I heard a splat right behind me. But you already knew that, didn’t you? That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?  You can never really get the sight of squished meat out of your mind. And now my head’s filled with maybes. Maybe I could have saved him. Maybe I could have helped him. Maybe it was my fault. Just Maybe. So, what do you think?