“Breakfast at Tiffany’s”

He pushed it forcefully. “Damn!” he shouted, helplessly. He was just so anxious, and so he won’t give up. The lights were already dimmed. A glass of water with droplets condensed, atop a table stood beside his stiff couch. Its remnants formed shapes, before trickling down the wood-parqued floor.
He pushed it further, now more forcefully than ever, for now, his head pulsated, and was sweaty. “I’d kill myself if you don’t work!” he scolded the Betamax. But it did work, as though it had a mind of its own, and engulfed the tape slowly yet swiftly.
Street lights passed through the slits of Venetian blinds, scanning the room, constantly fading. The T.V. projected dull colors on the paper wall, replacing the reds and yellows of passing cars.
He stood up from his squatted position, moved backwards to his one-seater couch, and let go of the earth’s pull, which tensioned his body much through out the day. “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” was his favourite. It was the only property he treasured so much. “Audrey Hepburn is really pretty” he thought, as the movie started.
He did this routine much throughout his life. In the dark recess of the Seventh floor, music from his movie, on his T.V., echoed faint noises into the corridors, at Ten Thirty.
Now he came to this part where Audrey looks through the glass separation. His heart crushed. His eyes teary. His body fixed.
He felt a longing to come near the screen. Time froze slowly.
A revelation came to him; nobody was there, in that very room. No eyes to survey him. No mouths, tongues to scorn him with serpentine tips. No pretense.
His face, illuminated by the images, shifting, came as close to this screen, reflecting his own on dark intervals.
In irony, her face formed a hazy glare. Details of her dissolved, in pixels of primary colors, entombed in a glass convex.
He shut his eyes, moistened by tears. Fell on the floor in a helpless despair, with his head lowered. So little an effort to turn off the T.V., yet his fingers sent off small tremors, his chest tightened, and he gasped for air, and exhaled, trembling.
Again, there was this awful deafening silence.
In the stillness, noise from the streets emerged. The sound of motor cars came swift, then faded.
There was too much change, too much change in schedule that his neighbors might turn restless by this stillness. But no, nobody knew, nobody cared, with the difference then and ever since he beheld this video tape.