The man has his choice of open doors as he walks the familiar streets of his city. He knows what lies beyond each one. He wishes he didn’t.
The weight of choice is not something the man likes to confront, least of all alone on a Friday night. There is no one to please – no one to impress – no one to avoid. Just the man and his desires.
He doesn’t much like that word. It feels dirty to him. Desires. To use the word is to admit to need. No, it’s worse. A need is objective. The man does not control his needs. No one does.
Desires toe the line of want and need. Most can be forced to one side. The man has long avoided desires in this way. If it carries a fleeting aura, it can be shoved aside; it is merely a want. A want is a waste. If chased, it will disappoint. The man does not allow himself to want for anything out of reach.
He could fall.
“And what if a want returns?” asks a voice inside the man’s head. It reminds him of his own voice. It provokes him like he does others.
The man has to pause and think. This voice has flustered him and he is not often flustered. He thinks again.
“Many wants come and go,” the man realizes he is speaking aloud. He is embarrassed, but he does not stop. “If it returns, it can be shoved aside again. I do it all the time.”
The man does not feel good about his answer. Citing routine signals lack of good reason. The voice will surely recognize that. It’s too smart not to.
“How many times is too many?” the voice asks. It sounds so smug, the man thinks. He would hate the voice if he did not first respect its tact. But he does, and that respect deserves an answer.
“You’re stalling,” the voice says. How did it know? The man is flustered once again. How many times is too many? He answers out loud – and honestly.
“I don’t know.”