We Open

The show opens, D and I are exhausted, we have no relation to the natural world, everything is merely something else. I throw flags and yellow cards. We're so exhausted we can't even talk, I have a tree tip pit I can retreat to, I assume everyone does, maybe a tarp, protection against the rain. Once, in Janitor College, we were truly lost, this was before GPS and we had just the sun and a stick, we predicted a certain direction, and we were correct, that way did lead out. We argued about rather or not something could carry meaning. I remember you flinched. It's only my close friends I care about. I really don't have time for anything else. The show opens. I don't get to mingle as much as I want because I end up the being the bartender, which is cool, controlling the flow of liquor, and drinking for free. I find a last reserve of energy, to get me through the night; the Cirque girls help, they're so damn cute, and I end up leaving the bar to D and Clay, eleemosynary. I hate dealing with money, and I've done way too much math in the last few days, so I trust people to tell me what they owe. The band is way too loud. When D relieves me at the bar we decide "Kind Of Blue" on loop, in the background, would be more appropriate. People want to talk, not be blasted by aging doctors with way too much equipment covering Jimmy Buffet. I could tell you a story. Having been almost everywhere. But I fear being boring, a last Hershey's Kiss late at night, another box of chocolates, I'd rather be remembered as that janitor you passed in the hall, the quantum mechanic, with a speech impediment. Nothing prepares you, everything satisfies. Several of those moments, entropy, epiphany, suddenly you stop dead in you tracks. Time to go home. D asks if I'm ok to drive and I tell him I could do this in my sleep.