Plans for Departure
This feels like the worst place one could possibly be, with a food riot on the front steps, birds suffering from the shits in the yard, a side door that requires a sign explaining how to open it. I’m leaving for. . . I don’t know where. Maybe somewhere empty space longs to be touched. You can come if you wish. I can’t promise there’ll be roads and buildings made of spider silk or that lakes will gently bubble to the dreams of sleeping fish, but light will reach us even a million years after the light has gone out.
As I was coming up the walk of a sort of medical penitentiary, a decrepit cadaver seated in a ground-floor window glared at me through the glass. Go away, he (it?) mouthed. I responded by brandishing the hammer I have been carrying for protection for years. Back when I was a kid, I juggled my own head on street corners for nickels and dimes. Some of the people who stopped to watch said the little smile on my face made the performance strangely worse. If I knew how things were going to turn out, I suppose I wouldn’t have bothered smiling.
10 February, 2021