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Love and Hate are Interchangable

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  • Love and Hate are Interchangable

    Love and hate become the same unless you're a steady middler. With that said, many start one way and end with the other.

    Life quickly becomes routine for most. Some small habits are random no matter who you point to, but as a whole we all do the same thing every day. That's typical life, but not for everyone.

    In this case, in a random South American slum, a sleazy troublemaker and a bitter woman pass each other daily unless the punk is put back in jail. When he isn't, one of the two briefly stop whatever they're doing to curse the other one for no good reasons. The reason they argue so much is that there just isn't much else to do.

    Over time, the two despised each other so much that both would change their daily paths or change what time they trekked their well worn dirt streets in order to avoid having to come up with different insults to throw at each other in front of the others.

    One day the heated, exaggerated exchanges between them ended when she spit on his collar when she was aiming at his face. It was enough for everyone to stop whatever they were doing to look up at them in disapproval. Even the shocked man who watched the germ packed oral slime slowly dripped down to his chest. They entirely ignored each other after that public, shockingly classless event.

    Life went on, and she would marry a man about as interesting as the trash that blew along the streets. They had some good things in common with each other, but those conversations ended as quickly as they both fell asleep when they got in bed.

    One day, the woman walked her predictable path, lethargically wearing a slight frown. The Sun may have been the cause for that. Then she heard a familiar voice. She looked up and there he was, sitting on top of a crumbling wall that hadn't been washed or painted since the day it was constructed.

    He looked different, even meaner than he used to. "I didn't think it was possible for a dirty, dime-less nobody like you who is less acceptable than a stranger with wet leprosy. Why are you still here?", the woman growled.

    "I don't belong anywhere else.", he replied.

    "You look like a home-less beggar I'd spit on before I gave him any unearned money, and I can tell that is exactly what you are!"

    "You're right, like you occasionally were back when we'd argue on and on about nothing, for no reason. And you should've known who I was at first sight, regardless some of the deep changes on my face."

    "Oh right, I should've been able to choose one homeless loser from all the others. You've never been special to anyone or anything around here or anywhere else, why are you back, to rudely waste more of my time?"

    "You could've recognized me, I'm still wearing the shirt you spat on all those years ago. It's the only thing nobody has been able to take from me."

    She looked at his shirt and remembered it like she wet it minutes ago. A wave of guilt passed through her entire body, and her eyes subtly looked away.

    "Homeless men are merely signs of the times we're all in now. Be gone, return to whatever crawling space you call home." She didn't start to briskly walk away after those words slipped away from her under-breath, waiting for what would probably the last time she would ever hear from him again.

    "By now you should know that if I could buy a three story mansion with a swimming pool and you weren't there, I'd still be homeless..."