His views dropped fast. He went from being the #1 watched
TikTok
influencer to being
homeless
in two weeks. The man in the nice suit who had been with him through his stardom abandoned him the moment any association with The Blue Man became inconvenient. The man with the nice suit was smart though. Had set the deals up so that The Blue Man was left with nothing.
All his assets. The billions of dollars worth of crypto and the millions in real estate were now all out of his ownership. Apparently they never had been. The whole time the man with the suit was the actual owner. Now all that was left were two sets of clothes, a mobile phone, a wristwatch, and a handheld flashlight. He slept at Circle Park in downtown
Westcity
.
Where did it all go wrong he wondered? Was it after he strangled that girl to death on video? No... he was still unhappy leading up to that event. He had strangled her in the first place because he was desperate to feel something again. To feel good. About what though? About his life.
life
. What a vague concept it was. People were prone on suffering by intellectualizing this thing called life. This simple existence where you woke up and did your thing and went to sleep. People made it difficult by thinking too much, asking themselves what their passions were. Until they went so crazy that they had to take sleeping pills to fall asleep, or if their health insurance didn't cover it they either turned to
alcohol
or simply bought a
gun
and blew their brains out.
He thought about doing the latter the other day. But he couldn't afford it. Wouldn't someone let him borrow a gun so that he could just kill himself? They could have the gun back after he was done. But no, people didn't want blood on their hands. If one were to kill themselves they needed to buy their own damn gun.
Plenty of booze was offered to him in the past week. The park was crawling with homeless people and though they didn't have much they were keen on sharing their liquor. It gave them someone to talk with. A little bit of warmth in the otherwise cold. Too bad for the Blue Man, his stomach couldn't handle alcohol. Even half a shot of vodka would turn his stomach inside out.
It had always been like this for The Blue Man. In college he made little friends. Everybody, even the most bookish nerds, was busy joining the cult of alcohol. But his stomach kept him out of that tribe. When he would share his condition people would either give him homeopathic remedies that allow him to drink or assure him that he could still have fun at the parties without drinking. Both happened to be untrue. In his case at least.
If he had been more mature, then he could've enjoyed himself. In retrospect he could see that not everybody drank. He would've been able to find his own circles on campus had he not been too busy beating himself up for not being able to fit in with the most visible crowd. He thought about his meteoric rise to stardom as The Blue Man. Saw how his pursuit for recognition could be traced back. It almost certainly could be tracked back further in life, but he wasn't willing to look there right now.
He had become more mature since college, but not mature enough to examine his life in whole with clear eyes.
He was more mature now and didn't exclude himself in those around him. When someone offered him a drink, he'd tell them he couldn't handle alcohol, but he would love to sit together and chat while the other drank. This worked out. In fact people didn't seem to care that he didn't drink. The talking was what they wanted. He'd made a few friends spending his evenings at the park this way. Tonight he was chatting with a man around 45 who drank only cognac and smoked paul mall's. His name was Denver.
Denver was almost probably not his real name. But when Denver asked the Blue Man what his name was The Blue Man had simply replied, "my name is Blue." and Denver didn't bat an eye. "Blue is a pretty name."
Denver was an ex marine, or so he said. But apparently he had not even gotten past basic training. He had gotten "sick" and was kicked out. What he had gotten sick with The Blue Man never asked. After that he paved roads for six or seven years, until he got some type of lung infection from breathing in too much asphalt fumes and ended up in the hospital.
He had been unemployed ever since. He spent a few years drifting around until he hurt his ankle, walking around the woods one night. After that he stayed put. Here in Westcity. 45. You wouldn't know that he was 45. The Blue Man himself would soon be in his mid forties... but Denver seemed like he was one generation above him. Someone his dad's age. Tough life it was sleeping outside. Drinking everyday. Eating only processed foods.
The Blue Man would figure out how to join society again soon. But would they ever let him in? Now that he was no longer a beloved celebrity the justice system might throw the book at him.
"So what was your story?" Denver asked.
"Me?"
"Yea. I've spoken an awful a lot about myself. Why don't you share some?"