The Prince of Sewers

He’s so small and skinny...I was thinking to myself as I looked at the boy who thought he was a man and tried so hard to impress.
With his hands in his pockets, looking at me with a serious face, he says:
-What can I say? You’re just a handicapped, starving whale.
-See...Now I know why I love you.
He was just a spoiled child who always had to be the centre of attention, even if it made him look ridiculous. He is a smart 20 year old man, who’s faith pushed him in the middle of the XXI century jungle. He has a weakness for his own intelligence and never lets an opportunity of proving his intelligence go by.
He lit his cigarette, following with still eyes the sun that set behind the city clouds. His ironic eyes had a beautiful colour.
He mockingly clenched his lips. He was disappointed the day had ended so fast. He looked towards me and asked:
-What are you looking at?
His superior smile was starting to get on my nerves. His voice gained firmness and he started telling his stories. He liked talking in rimes and I can say he was fairly good at it. Regrettably, at times he made the impression of being mentally challenged. Or maybe he was just bothered by the lifestyle he engaged in. That’s also why I had him around, even though at times he could be quite the pest. Now he was talking about Japanese warriors and the honour of the Samurai. I couldn’t tell whether he was discussing the traditional harakiri, as they used to, or if he was alluding to the intellect.
When he was through , he wiped his tearstained cheek with his shirt cuff.
It was late.
The night began to descend upon us and on the sidewalk we were alone.
His eyes were ablaze with hope. He remained silent for a moment, thinking.
-I impressed u, didn’t I?, he asked, fixing me insistently. I am the best and you know it.
I shook my head affirmatively, smiling at him. I didn’t want to see him blue. It would have been a shame.
He smiled back. He seemed content.
Then he turned away suddenly, without saying goodbye. I watched him going away, hands in his pockets, whistling to the rhythm of Guta’s last hit.
Then he stopped, leaned down and opened the sewer from the street I lived on.
He began descending slowly, biding his time, until he utterly vanished.