Did you ask me how I slept? I thought not. Dreams? Other people's dreams are always so boring. But the night is full of fears that sunrise mitigates without erasing. And so the day begins with a residue from the night before, all those fitful hours hiding beneath the new paint, the shower and shave, etc.
I have hours of meetings today. It is, apparently, what I do.
Meanwhile in the cafes, people eat and drink and talk about their hopes and dreams and desires. They giggle and they moan and fill us up with envy. The ancient memory, somewhere, of days we spent in kind when we had nothing but an endless future.
Money in the bank, baby. Laugh against the void. It's someone else's trouble.
No comments:
Post a Comment