The Return of the Mack

When he came home the lights wouldn't turn on. He knew why. Not even bothering to take off his soaking wet shoes and jacket, he slumped in the filthy sofa and closed his eyes. When he awoke several hours had passed. He tried to turn on the TV and remembered that he had no electricity. He smoked a cigarette and let the smoke form in blue plumes over his head in the dilapidated living room. Summer was over and it was already dark outside. He was hungry, but that didn't bother him now. Nothing bothered him anymore. After having sat like this for a while, he got up and went to the bathroom. The floor was covered in dirty clothes, newspapers and other shit. He looked in the mirror. Despite the relative darkness in the flat he could make out the worn features of his face. His hair was shabby and greasy. He looked old and worn. It had been a while since he last showered or washed. How long he didn't know. Standing there, looking at his dark reflection in the dirty mirror, he couldn't help but to smile. 'I look like shit' he thought, and he was right. Still, with no one to impress or even talk to, it hardly seemed of any significance now. He had lost his mobile phone a while back (was it last week? Or last month?) and he hadn't checked his email since he walked out of work months earlier. He stood like this, staring at his haggered physical manifestation, well aware that there was such a thing as the point of no return, and that he had reached it by his own free will.
He cut his hands as he punched the mirror repeatedly.
He returned to the living room, still wearing his big jacket and filthy sneakers. As the blood streamed down his arms, onto his sleeves and slowly coagulated into dark brown crust he lit another cigarette.
Through the windows of his tenth floor apartment he could see the lights of the big city and hear the never ending hum of a million cars, buses, people and air-con systems.
He finished the cigarette and put it out on the laminate flooring with his shoe. He stood up, rummaged around the room and found a crumbled piece of paper in a drawer. As he left the flat, he flicked the light switch well knowing that there was no light to turn off in the first place. He took one look back at the unlocked front door, and walked down the stairs. He knew he would never be back.