She was looking down. Wondering if he would go down in the secular basement to check the foundation obviously. Who and why. A VP. He is sitting on the sofa obviously ignoring the strange game. Why aren't you looking at me said a thousand or a million or a billion. Obviously she knows plumbing better than I do. It's safe down there. No one knows. A manly cavern. The caves tunneled through the world leading to the catacombs of Paris and any other bottle of wine, spoiled. I should be looking up, I guess to compensate the artificial intelligence of some asteroid fixated on the DNA evidence that we are still both slightly human. A box of decorations and no criminal record. What are we celebrating? La soup du jour. Some ghost or resurrection. Will I learn her words by then? Will I forget how to type in an ashtray? I didn't tell her to go away
Hungry? The Rohonc Codex would make for a great fad to publish in some hardcover. Obviously some would want to open it again and again just for the scent. I'd hire her in an instant and she knows me because of that big dumb rock in the sky hurtling somewhere. Not some ideal situation. But I imagine we will have magic and chemistry for the next thousand or a million or a billion years. Trouble is the mood of our interruption. And we have a beautiful home somewhere on Earth together. Somewhere over the rainbow.
2.1 so far.
And no Saturday Night jokes to scrap for the next thousand years.
Arteria. You were always the winner ot Somnolent Game.
My guitar creaks now like an old ship traveling away through the anxiety.
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