Can of beans

04:30 AM

Opening a tin of outdated beans he takes great care not to spill any of the foul smelling goo on the carpeted kitchen floor. "Oh heck, it doesn't really matter anymore" he thinks as he takes a swish from his 3 day old own brand cola bottle, whilst eyeing up the least putrid looking pan left discarded on the stove. The flat is ruined, and there are five strangers sleeping in his bed, on the floor and on the settee in the TV room. None of which is a girl he notes regretfully. His traitor brother sneaked off in the middle of the night for an impromptu road trip to the gates of hell a.k.a Surbiton and he hasn't been seen since, he is probably lazily haggling over the price of his flighty soul with Hades.
He's got the worst stomach ache ever and hasn't spoken to a human being for the past three days. The same one syllable grunt he uttered to everybody from the checkout assistant at Tesco's, the clinically obese woman demanding a size 10 at the store he works at and religiously vows to leave every week, to his course lecturer belittling his rationale and his life choices (who cares if he doesn't want to "pursue a career in the noble field of life sciences" whatever that means), managed to suffice just perfectly… He's decided to stick to this new found communication method for the time being.

It suits him just fine.

By now the white beans in tomato sauce bubbles away happily on the ancient stove as he fails to find any bread to toast, it was a stupid idea anyway, the ginger haired inhabitant of his bed thought it would a good idea to get a slice that was stuck in the toaster out with a bread knife and so ruining the only new item in the kitchen. The bad smell emanating from the stove causes the ginger friend to get up, crawl to the kitchen on all fours and beg for a window to be opened. He spoons the by now congealed beans into the overflowing bin, cracks open several mucky windows to let out the bad smell when his parents cross his mind (funny that).
He hasn't seen hide or hair of his parents for several weeks and it suits him just fine. Stifling, depressing, clingy, accusing, impatient and unreasonable were just a couple of mild words to describe this ancient couple. His mum hates his dad, so it's baffling to him why they are still together twenty odd years later. She resents him for his intermittent alcohol related "problem" and takes up any opportunity to slag him off to her son. He just ends up hating his father more and more as each day passes.
The latest news is that his father after promising for the last time to stop the stupidity became the most pious guy to grace his side of the couch. The last conversation with his father was on par with a confessional featuring Adolf Hitler and Desmond Tutu. The intensity of this episode caused him to retreat to his flat for recovery leading him to become a fully fledged hermit. He officially retired his hermit hat yesterday and opened the door, unfortunately the only five people on this earth he could loosely classify as mates stood outside in their filthy football gear, smelly, exhausted with an Xbox and three 20 level games.
This cycle is set to repeat in exactly three weeks time.