The hanging lights swing back and forth, but not quite in time to the token muzak. A pair of Singaporeans at an adjacent table are talking so much it’s hard for them to find time to eat. We’re struggling to find things to say, because I’m still processing. I’ve got the inner city restaurant post-film blues. »
The thought of moving brings up so many questions. How much is space worth? How much does space cost? »
I’m mentally preparing myself for work when my mind’s overtaken by the clop clop clop of somebody’s boots. I look around. She’s wearing the Little Black Dress, holding hands with Jeans and Trucker Cap Boy, a cigarette behind his left ear. Overtaking them, I swing through the doctor’s section of the hospital carpark. Somebody’s listening to opera in their (expensive) car, the soprano nearly blocking the sounds of the boots. »
As we landed, I noticed the powerlines in the distance, an orange sky behind them as they sat on the horizon. I guess I’m home again. »
I sat on the beach with my book and watched the clouds making a hat over the hills in the distance. A calming soundtrack, too (the first Mojave 3 album, for what it’s worth). But after a while something stirred within me – fear mixed with a feeling that there’s something I haven’t remembered yet, and ought to. I left the beach, hoping it’ll come to me later when I’m alone. »