A dimly lit room from roof to tables with some friendly faces and mostly strangers. It was noisy too, standard for a popular bar in Sydney – despite being a midweek affair. Although arriving late and a little tired (but then who wasn’t back then?) it wasn’t hard to reach their level; laughs, drinks, stories of old and good times. Life was beautiful – before that day. Well, except for that incident involving impending eviction and needing to find a new place before the turn of the month. Nights like that helped.

It wasn’t 8pm yet but it was to be an early night. The past weeks had been a roller coaster of parties, weddings, family, more parties – well, you get it. Full and content from a decent steak – at $5 you can’t go wrong – sleep beckoned and it’s nothing people question when they hear about the incident. That should have been where the night ended. There was talk of a trip to Tahiti, it’s all a bit unclear now. Tahiti or Fiji perhaps, one of those popular islands for sure. You’re right – it isn’t important.

There have been stories of it before, too. The kind that almost seem made up. You want to call bullshit on it – part of you doesn’t really believe it – at least not until you see it for yourself. It was about 8 o’clock by then – or was it 9? It may have been 9. The conversation was on Miami or something – another story from the archives getting a few laughs. It might have been New York, actually – sorry, you’re right – getting to the point.

People say it must have been a dream. A bullshit lie – the dreams came after the incident and sleep is now an elusive creature that only brings cold sweat and tears. It happened, it must have happened. He was wearing jeans and a cardigan. It was dark – like that meant he could get away with it! Was it warranted? Deserved? It’s not right. It’s never right. Nonetheless there it was: a glance left, a glance right, a slight pause. An open mouth and a crime committed in poorly lit plain sight. Food off the floor, eaten in an instant. Chewing, so much fucking chewing – why won’t the chewing stop?

He chews in the dreams too, but it’s not always steak – sometimes it’s other people. Other times he is three times as tall as anyone in the bar and his plate is on the floor. People are forced onto it – “You can eat of that”, he says. You couldn’t, though. Not really. Other dreams had him being force fed a tennis shoe. Mushroom sauce with that, bastard?

Now there are no friends or family. Only strangers and those who don’t believe. Why didn’t anyone see it? Don’t say it didn’t fucking happen because it did! He picked the fork up from where it harmlessly hit the floor. It was a fork for sure – and it was so loud when it hit! Fuckers. It doesn’t matter though, it’s clear what it was. He ate it. It came from the floor. He knew it did. He liked it. You could eat off that floor, you know?

Call me crazy if you want, just be ready for the day that it happens to you. No one will believe you either and I hope you burn for it because there was sure as shit nobody there to save me! I came here today to tell my story. I do this for the betterment of humanity – and because it’s my story for those that will listen. When I’m here I know they will. This is The Rogue Couch.