Breaking into the Strange

I awoke on a frigid October morning, but I had no doubts that Warren sat on his balcony with a cigarette drooping out of the corner of his mouth. Nothing could get past him and his daily routines, not even Mother Nature could win in a battle against him.

On my porch, I stretched letting the brisk air sting my lungs when held inside the sacs.

“Mornin’ Warren, “I yawned. I received no response.

He wasn’t sitting on the concrete slab that a few steel beams supported in the air. I figured he just overslept. I gave him about an hour to make his entrance onto his porch, but it never happened. There was no hoot or howl from him, calling me to come over. Just silence.

I pounded on his door after a few raps of my knuckles didn’t work. Still Warren never showed. Giving him the benefit of the doubt, I left him alone. Warren was tremendously crazy from the paranoia that induced his brain, too much acid, too much marijuana, too many drugs. I figured leaving him alone would be best because you never ever get into his business if he doesn’t want you there.

Anguish hit me with the full force of a bullet train hitting against me. A week. One whole week without trippy music and the slight smell of weed consuming the perimeter of my apartment. Where was he?

My neighbors were delighted that Warren didn't show for a week. I swear Elizabeth threw a party with them all. Of course, I wasn't invited because I too became some sick form of living to them all. It didn't matter though. I was the only one who worried about him because I knew he accepted me.

Eventually I climbed up the trellis to break into his apartment through the sliding glass door. What I expected to see was Warren possibly dead, the guy was old, but I tried to keep optimistic. The next thought was that he cooped himself up to finish his latest book he wanted to read. What I found was just his junk. Only a few animals and paintings were taken off the wall. I could tell where each object was though. Smoke residue left the walls caked with a grimy off yellow color. Each wall now had splotches of the original white paint scattered about in the shapes of frames and dead animal heads.

Man, Warren really did smoke too much.

I stood in the middle of the room surrounded by Warren’s life, and I knew then that it probably wasn’t all of it. The man set out to live some more with whatever life his body managed to hold onto. All this though held a piece of Warren and it showed that he wasn’t afraid to go out and be bizarre, it only meant living.

Where did Warren go? That’s what I always wondered. I have a few ideas; he possibly got himself a cabin in Montana that he always mentioned. Some place in the middle of nowhere always attracted him. Maybe he went to Brazil; he wanted to go there because of the beaches and girls. I don’t know. I just know he didn’t make himself into a dog because his time wasn’t up.

When I tried to grasp the concept that Warren probably left me it was of course hard. The one person that let me loose left me, but it didn’t surprise me. It is after all Warren.

He did leave a post-it note sticking to an empty whiskey bottle. The chicken scratch writing said:

Jason,
I’m leaving all my rubbish with you. You’ll know what to do with it now.
Ciao, my friend.
-Warren

Dropping the note, I took in the surrounding once again. The odd assorted treasures seem to hold a grander meaning. Picking up a tearing box of miscellaneous items, I started to go through it eagerly. I had all the time in the world to rifle through everything the old spirited man left behind. Plenty of time to figure out what to do next with whatever secrets and tales, I uncovered from dusty stacks.

There in that room went that A+ quality that everyone begged to have from me.