Where is man

(short story)
My foot took me tonight to a cheap pub on 36th Street,
Entered without money, I was wearing dirty clothes and woven trousers
My face was black of sorrow, My eyes are sad, My hair is dirty in need of a bucket of water, Smelly, Disgusting and disgusting.
People smell my smell and go away from me
But what i can do ?
loud music,
Whores drink cheap wine,
Dancers smoke cannabis.
Busty whores
Crazy Singer sings "Where's Love"
I listen to him and I wonder: where is love, where is love, where is love ??
Do not exist for love, just money ... money is love ..
The prostitutes did not come to me, because they know I do not have money.
No one cares about me
I sat in a chair next to someone wearing worn leather sandals and a big jackit ; When I approached him, he looked at me with horror. Leaving him alone and I took out a cigarette "next" cheap, lit it and ran in the fork ; I look at the prostitutes and how they engineered their movements with this art,
I wonder: Where did they study such things?
I saw an old friend I knew, he was drunk, leaning towards me , his mouth smelled foul, even though it smelled of fresh vodka, We talked a bit, He knew through my conversation with him that I was bankrupt ; He took out a piece of paper in the category of fifty dirhams, Give it to me and apologize to me; because he will leave now and leave me alone here. He told me that he had married and must return home early.
I tried to keep it with me, but I did not get it
The person who looked at me in horror was looking at the ground, not looking at anyone , Did not raise his head only when he wanted to modify the roll of cannabis.
His hands tremble !!
He took a plate of cheap marijuana out of his drawer, Cut a small part of it, and returned the rest to the same place, He took a cigarette and mixed it with the cannabis,
He emptied everything into a sheet of nebrus, then adjusted it , then started smoking..
His hands are still trembling !!!
The features of his face made me forget the sadness that dwells inside me, The blue of his eyes made me forget my sad face, he Made my heart burned, just as he burned the cannabis with fire,
I read his sadness, his pain and his illness, as I read, on this smoking box, "Smoking kills," whichever kills really smoking or human ???
Smoking we resort to after we feel that we have died, Smoking does not kill, smoking can not kill a dead person basically.
God knows this man !!
What his story even became the case ??
I checked the security that my friend gave me,
I asked for two glasses of fake vodka and a few cigarettes,
I handed him one, but he did not take it from me, Just look at the sad look, like a tell me thank you. I left him with what was relaxing in him, and i began to drink, and from time to time, i look at him, I see that his hands are still trembling.
After I drank
I started to cry and say
Stop,
Please singer
Do not say "where is love"
Say "Where is man"
.
written by nouina