Apathy is my new religion

“Are you ready to go Rocco?” she asked while tossing an uncomfortable plastic bag into the garbage bin. It was difficult for a woman of her social standing to bend down and clean up after him. Yet, public humiliation was more tolerable to her than paying the $150 fine. The dog did not answer her question; instead, he repositioned his legs and wiggled his tail in delight. The northeast corner of 33rd Street and 8th Avenue was a sight for sore canine eyes. Of particular interest was that old Jewish woman dressed in flowery fabrics was of particular interest to him. She inspected the flashy outdoors menu of the Stage Deli and wondered out loud why the place charged “$3.45 for a bowl of Matsaball soup, were these goyim crazy or something?” Rocco was drawn to the grandmotherly scent that came from her direction. The smell of mothballs and old body odor inspired him to urinate beneath the woman’s legs. “Oh my God,” screamed out the old woman in panic. “Lady, your dog almost peed all over my shoes.” The younger woman seemed unimpressed, she jerked the dog towards the opposite corner of Eighth Avenue.
“Mommy is just going to make a short phone call, don’t worry, it won’t take too long.”
Rocco did mind. He had nothing scheduled for the day. As she exercised her dialing fingers upon the slick panel of her cell phone, Rocco urinated all over the walls of Madison Square Garden.
Nestled between the majestic Empire State Building and the Corinthian-decorated United States Post Office across the street, Madison Square Garden would barely win the “Best in Show” award in the Mississippi county fair. The Empire State Building peaked to the sky while the historical post office building told ancient tales of Roman glory. By contrast, Madison Square Garden was nothing to look at. It was a simple round block of concrete decorated with cheap advertisements and that old blue and white sign that read “Pennsylvania Station.”
With his territory clearly marked for all to see, Rocco felt an unusual sense of ownership over Manhattan real estate. Now all that was left was to piss all over City Hall, the Whitney Museum and the Trump Tower International. Soon the entire city would belong to him. Intoxicated by his own delusions of grandeur, this canine real estate entrepreneur refocused his attention towards his master. While she dialed the different number combinations, he stared at her deep brown eyes and tried to gage her sense of loneliness.
“I can’t get a hold of Gina. Let’s give her a few more minutes. Hopefully, she will show up
He wiggled his tail served in affirmation. She adjusted her wide underwear strap and led her obedient friend towards the busy sidewalk. A filthy homeless woman approached the two.
“Can you spare some change?”
Rocco watched his master reach into her pocket and hand the old woman a small shiny dime. The woman murmured a few irate words in her direction and walked away.
“This city is full of crazy people,” said the woman to her dog. “I swear to God, people here are just crazy.”
Fully aware of the irony, he crossed the street and once again found himself standing in front of the deli. Spotting a medium-sized piece of sesame bagel on the outer rim of a green garbage bin, Rocco indulged the tasty snack. The woman waited impatiently for her friend to arrive. But Gina never showed up.
Around 11:30am I walked out of the C train stairways and walked out to the filthy concrete of 8th Avenue. At the entrance to the Stage Deli, I spotted a semi-attractive Indian woman who held on to an awkward dog.
“How are you today?” I asked, but she ignored me.
“O.K Rocco, it is time to go home, Mommy had enough.” she disappeared into the crowded streets.
Frank showed up a few minutes later. He was recently laid off from the bank but did not seem too concerned about his new situations.
“What can I tell you Guy, sometimes things just happen. You have to go with the flow, take life’s punches and keep a smile on your face.”
We both ordered the ham and cheese omelets. For a moment, I was pissed at the size of the so-called small orange juice but Frank reassured me that life was too short for such concern.
“Think about what stress can do to people. heart attacks, strokes, cancer, high blood pressure, those are the main causes of death. You have to ask yourself, is it really worth it? I tell you Guy, ever since I lost my job, I decided not to give a shit. Apathy is my new religion.”
We talked about it for a while and then I headed home for an early noon nap. When I woke up around three, I found Jenny lying there naked right besides me. She must have skipped her one o’clock philosophy seminar on account of her nasty hangover.
Jenny and I hung out with the wrong type of people. They were much younger than we were in terms of state of mind despite our reversed chronology. Why we ever agreed to head all the way down to the Bowery just to see Nick showcase his lame-ass poetry had something to do with Jenny and the fact that Nick was her best male friend ever since high school. Nick was a nobody. just another of the many sheep that herded around this urban campus. Poetry night was Jenny’s fault but the hangover was mine. While we waited for the poets to do their thing, I took full advantage of the $3 shots of cheap tequila that were on special. The busty waitress was more than glad to bring more shots around and I was more than happy to see her smile. The golden drink eased my boredom at times. Yet, it only made things only that much more tolerable. To start with, I never could stand Nick. He just waited for me to stumble. He wanted Jenny all to himself despite the fact that he was a flaming homo. True, I could have been a better boyfriend to Jenny. I was a complete bastard at times. But outside interference in a relationship, that went against the basic protocols of the Geneva Convention.
“I am leaving you Guy.” That was the first thing she said after she woke up from her nap. I still nursed a hangover; Jenny added another layer to it.
“You want some coffee?” I asked but she seemed rather disinterested.
“Did you hear what I said?” she asked, “I am leaving your ass and this time it is really over.”
Just most other people around our age group, we kept on breaking up only to hook up a few weeks later. By now I was used to this predictable exercise.
“I don’t really care Jenny, you can go ahead and walked out the door.”
“You don’t care? What the fuck do you mean, you don’t care?” She threw her jacket on and slammed the door as she walked away.
But I really did not care. Life was too short for drama and apathy after all was my new religion.
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