Little round mirrors

All alone, on the floor, next to your twin bed box spring and mattress
The door is ajar. From afar, you can hear bands practicing
And when they dream, they all dream of somebody like you
Somebody who takes what they make
Twice as seriously as they could ever hope to
And when you dream, you dream of a day
When you find something you can love
Half as much as you love all your little round mirrors.

He wakes up. In a blur, as usual. Saturday morning, or afternoon. It's a gray area. What was he doing last night? Was he alone? Does it really matter? At the end of the day (well, night), if you wake up alone what difference does it make how did you spent the night? Especially if you can't remember. 

His sheets, marinated in wine and tobacco (and some other smells) suggest that he probably wasn't alone. But he's too tired to even try to remember. And, once again, what's the difference? 

He looks at his little round mirrors trying to find the one that will help him start this day. Trust me, it's a lot harder than it seems. Especially when he sees his reflection in one of them. 

See yourself reflected in one:
There's a hole in the middle you can't seem to fill

How did he get here? He has everything he always dreamed of. A great job, nice flat in the best city in the world, his freedom, endless possibilities... And yet, happiness eludes him. 

Is it possible that longing for something is better than actually having it? Is satisfaction really the death of desire? Or was he dreaming the wrong dreams?

Finally he chooses Cohen's New skin for the old ceremony. Which starts with Is this what you wanted? Oh, the irony...

After an enormous amount of coffee, he checks his Songkick account on the phone to find a concert he'll see tonight. He finds some jam session in this small club he likes. Can't be bad. In fact, most of the times, it turns out to be surprisingly good. 

He spends the rest of the day half-sleeping before he has to get ready to go. 

Once there he finds his favorite spot near the bar with the great acoustics. The first band was so-so, but the second one was really groovy. Great music, fantastic vocal and good choice of songs. 

The following bands were nothing special so he spent most of the night chatting up a cute barmaid who studied (or studies) Russian and BSCM. Which, to his great disappointment, wasn't at all a sexual thing, as one may rightfully assume. 

He took her to a nearby pay-by-the-hour hotel and left her there minutes after she fell asleep. Leaving her nothing but taxi money.

Although he knew that the phrase a morning of awkwardness is far better than the night of loneliness was true, he preferred to avoid both. Whenever he could.

And even if they stay in touch, the past stays in the past
But every time you crash a little bit harder than the last
And every time you crash, don't you
Want to find something you can love
Half as much as you love all your little round mirrors?

As he walked the beautiful avenues of the city of love, he felt so fucking lonely. Far too lonely for a guy who just made sweet love with a top-shelf girl, at least 15 years younger than him. But somewhere down that road he remembered the words of his favorite fictional author: "No amount of top-shelf pussy can compete with the love of a good woman.". He knew he should be happy, he thought that he will be, but he just wasn't.  

And although this city offers endless possibilities to find all kinds of disposable love, it really went far and beyond to hide the true and pure one. Or was he just looking in the wrong places? 

He walked for hours, arriving home in the break of dawn. Went straight to bed, where he'll wake up a bit later. Looking at his little round mirrors.