Vanity. Ares

I did not think that this was enough to
dislike another man, especially since out of the
eight people living in the house I was probably the
least dubious, well in my eyes, especially in regards
to drugs. Beckett, smoked at least Marijuana,
perhaps even dust or Crack; I smelt something odd
from one of his joints as we walked to McDonalds
one day. But I did not complain, I was not there to
win a pageantry, but I did like Beckett and he was
quickly becoming an ally of some sorts, as I would
also let him into my room and we would chat
about random topics; sometimes life and its
meaninglessness (usual hipster chat) and other
times he would talk about Anais, his girlfriend, in
humorous ways — like one time he told me as she
was so gullible she had believed him when told
that if she spun around in a circle high on drugs
that she could die. He told me that he would play
games with her alluding to him committing suicide
in such a way, after smoking what I assumed was
weed, but I wondered if other drugs were involved
too, and she started to cry when he spun in a circle
thinking that he was really going to die. I thought
Anais had to be written off as stupid, but I met her
one day as I came back from an afternoon walk and
she did not seem so dumb. Instead she just
seemed polite as I remember we had a long
conversation about the Olympics and Usain Bolt —
she said she loved Usain Bolt and that black guys
were so exotic, before telling me that she was born
and raised in Leeds. “There’s not many up there,”
said Anais of Black people. I said, sure but thought
it was strange that she was speaking about black
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