Mat loses himself in the hypnotic swirl of water running down the blue bathroom sink, endlessly spinning and spinning, endlessly as it seems. A drop of blood disrupts the tranquility of the clear water vortex which felt like pulling his soul down the drain swirl by swirl. He looks up into the cracked mirror. Another nosebleed.
He hates his face. A skinny tired face, mid thirties, not particularly good looking, although he could look better, if he cared enough to try. He always looks tired and definitely older than he is. Permanently unshaved and with two-colored eyes, one yellow and one grey, his long unattended black hair would look cool if he were this super famous rock star with an attitude and tons of money. But he's not. He's just another guy, named Mat Jacobson.
He feels so trapped in that one-by-two old bathroom, a "luxurious"extension to his microscopic studio flat. The walls have extensive damage from moisture, the dealing of which he's been putting off for months. He hastily wipes his nosebleed and exits.
He walks outside. The sun burns, yet he wears a long dark coat and a pair of old jeans. He never really got rid of that persistant cough. He's in the slums of Tihuana. Not particularly safe for an American citizen with Cherokee ancestry, however, his slim weakly look and poor apparel make him less of a target for abductors. Besides, he's supposed to be protected by the gangs, at least that's what he's been told. He's not proud of what he's doing, but he has no choice. He had to adapt to survive. All those hours wasted at the unemployment office, all those stupid jobs he had to do, with no reward nor future. It wasn't his fault he entered the world like this, no friends, no support, diagnosed with severe manic depression. He's had to sleep out in the streets for days at a time. Until Marty approached him. Marty, a funny name for a West Coast Latino gang member, but the word is that it comes from 'Martinez', probably another fake name for an aspiring gangster.
As of late, Mat Jacobson has become part of the steroid smuggling business. A new method developed by Cuban doctors enables specific substances to be injected in a body, in an inert state, and then harvested using specific hi-tech equipment somewhere else. At least that's what he was told. Mat's never been good at science, or anything else for that matter. He just goes along, passing the border twice a week, carrying the merchandise inside his own bloodstream, then undergoing a blood filtration procedure in an underground lab in East Los Angeles. He only gets a tenth of his pay in cash, the rest in goes to a Panama bank account, which he can't touch yet. A sort of 'insurance' for his employers. It sounds like a bad deal, but Mat had no alternatives at the time when he accepted and he had nothing to lose anyway.
The sun is high up, burning his forehead as sweat runs down his eye-brows. He's going to work now, getting ready for another injection. This one is not merchandise but something to keep his system accustomed to the whole process of transferring lethal quantities of extremely dangerous substances in his body. Although inert, the steroids still strain his body and furthermore he only has fourteen hours after an injection session to cross the border and be processed, otherwise the side-effects could be kind of fatal. The nosebleeds, the coughs, the nightmares and the insomnia are all side-effects of this unnatural procedure, but this doesn't scare him at all, not because he considers himself bold, but because he keeps reminding himself he has nothing to lose.
He keeps coughing. He feels dizzy and the hot sun is not helping. What is it? June? July? What kind of loser doesn't even know what month it is? He keeps battering himself like that. It's easier, more convenient to hate oneself. He walks slowly, towards the direction of the sun, not paying any attention to the empty poor neighborhood around him, hungry, dizzy, obviously sick and weak. Another day at work. It feels like a bad dream. It might even be a dream. The thought shapes a silly grin on his face.
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