Once there, I paid the lady the entrance fee and ordered a beer (yes, they sold beer there). I then walked through a curtain-covered doorway with the open beer in my hand. Right away, the smell of sperm wafted into my nostrils. But that was to be expected from a sleazy place like that. Inside, there were various red and purple—I guess these were considered “sexy” colors—hallways and small rooms with video screens playing a variety of pornos. For obvious reasons, it was also quite dark in there.
As far as I knew, the people who visited adult theaters were mostly homosexuals who were hoping to hook up with other homosexuals. And as far as I knew, I wasn’t a homosexual. Even though I sometimes got turned on when looking at erect penises.
I checked the various rooms to see what pornos were playing until I came upon a small room where an old man with a Santa Claus beard was sitting on a chair, watching porn and jacking off. I was taken aback as I wasn’t expecting to find anyone there. He turned around and smiled at me mischievously, motioning towards his wrinkled cock with his hungry eyes. I quickly closed the door and entered the first booth I saw, locking the door behind me.
I watched the porno playing on the screen and sipped on my beer until I got an erection. I took out my dick and started rubbing it. The movie that was on was an interracial gangbang. Five black men were fucking a blonde white girl with big tits. She had one cock in her ass, one in her vagina, one in her mouth, and at the same time she was jerking off two guys. For whatever reason, I enjoyed gangbang pornos the most.
I watched it for a while, until all the men came on the woman’s face. I timed it so that I came at the same time. Then I finished my beer and left. The experience left me cold. It was better to jerk off at home, I thought.
On the street, I bought some cigarettes from a nearby kiosk. I wasn’t yet in the mood to go to a bar, so on a whim I decided to go to a regular movie theater instead. Since I didn’t like it when there were lots of people around and I also didn’t like mainstream movies much, I chose an arthouse movie theater—not that I necessarily liked those either. There were only two in Tallinn and I chose the one that was closest to me.
When I arrived, I learned that a movie was going to start in about fifteen minutes. It was a French movie called La Vie des morts. I normally didn’t like French movies because they were often pretentious and dull, but what the hell. I bought a ticket and a bottle of beer and entered the small auditorium. There were only two other people there, two women. I took a seat in the middle of the back row.
The film began shortly. It started with a guy who was in a coma after a botched suicide attempt. It made me wonder how successful I’d be at committing suicide, considering I hadn’t been very successful at most things in life.
If I were to do it, I thought, I would probably do it by hanging myself from the steel beam in the wardrobe of my apartment; it was sufficiently high and seemed sturdy enough. Although I couldn’t of course guarantee that it wouldn’t break or that I wouldn’t have second thoughts whilst hanging from it.
As I was trying to focus on the movie, the endless blather of the two females in the auditorium was getting more and more annoying. It seemed as if they had come to the theater just to have a conversation with one another instead of watching the movie. Couldn’t they have done that in a café instead? What the fuck was wrong with people?
Eventually, when I couldn’t take it anymore, I said in a loud voice, “Hey! Yeah, you two. Would you mind shutting the fuck up?”
They flashed me some dirty looks and continued talking more quietly.
Despite the initially interesting premise, when the movie was over, I felt that it was nothing special. It focused too much on family and, as usual, it ended on an optimistic note, which was something I abhorred. Did anything in life ever end on an optimistic note? Indeed—did life itself end on an optimistic note? Although death wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, when you died you lost everything you ever had. Everything you ever lived for. So what was the point in any of it? Why not skip this pointless and drawn-out episode between birth and death altogether?
When I was leaving the theater, I saw the two women again. “What’s your problem?” one of them asked as I walked past her.
“Inconsideration,” I said without stopping. It was the same problem I had against the universe.
Outside, I lit a Marlboro Red. Now what?
20
After eating lunch at a greasy Chinese fast-food joint, I strolled around the city for a bit, smoking cigarettes.
Eventually, I found myself in Rotermann Quarter. It was a recently reconstructed district in the Tallinn city center with a bit of a retro sci-fi vibe due to its mix of old limestone buildings and new glass and metal architecture with colorful LED illumination.
I had come to this part of town because I had once stumbled upon a strange bar there called Disremember—an apt name for a bar if there ever was one. Its colorful and contrasting décor had consisted of Russian icons and modern art and I had met plenty of unusual patrons there.
For you see, I was still on my never-ending quest to find someone worth talking to. Someone who’d listen. Even if all I had found so far were faceless NPCs who I scared away the minute I began talking about my worldviews. Views which were perfectly reasonable after all, if not a little bleak. But then life was a little bleak. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t make it. I wouldn’t have wanted to. If a god made this world, as Schopenhauer said, then I would not want to be its god—its misery and despair would break my heart.
However, when I arrived at the spot where the bar was supposed to be, there was nothing there. I was certain that there had been a bar there once. I even circled around the place, making sure I hadn’t misremembered the exact spot where it was supposed to be, yet it could have only been at one spot. And on that spot, there was nothing. There wasn’t even any sign that there had ever been a bar there.
I lit a cigarette. Strange, I thought. Very strange.
For lack of any better ideas, I decided to head to Scarlet Emperor again, which was nearby. As I was walking there, the sun came out for a change.
The walk took me through Kanut garden where there was a statue of Dostoevsky. His Notes from the Underground was one of the finest novellas I had ever read on account of its stark and honest portrayal of human pettiness, humiliation, and misery. I stopped in front of the monument. It was covered in bird shit. Even when you were dead, they still shat on you.
Although Scarlet Emperor often hosted an assortment of various weirdoes, when I got there, I saw that the place was rather empty. I guess that was not surprising, considering it was Tuesday.
The same goth bartender was behind the counter as the last time I had been there. I ordered a house beer. After she finished pouring the drink, I paid for it with my card and asked, “So where is everybody?”
“Beats me.”
“Who does?”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.” I took a big sip of beer. Continuing with my chit-chat, I asked, “Do you like working here?”
“It’s okay,” she said with no emotion.
“I see. By the way, what’s behind that door?” I pointed towards a door to the right of the counter which had, “Fuck off, staff only,” written on it.
“Oh that? Supplies.”
“Fascinating.”
“Yeah.”
It seemed I wasn’t going to get anything more out of her, so I stopped trying. I walked to an empty booth and focused on my beer instead.
Come to think of it, I couldn’t recall ever having met a goth with a personality. I guess what they lacked in personality they tried to make up in appearance since otherwise nobody would find them attractive. And she was attractive… though ultimately little more than the dark version of a bimbo.