I couldn't make it in time--my suitcase was far from being completely packed, its contents sprawled all over the bedspread. Such funky little garments; tens and hundreds of vintage buttons, headsets, stereo plugs, pom poms, green furry balls wrapped in cellophane, ginger snaps, bits of magnificent metal screws. I have no idea what made me spread them all over again, but one thing for sure, I just had to pack and had to leave.
ASAP.
Yet I couldn't get packing, no matter what.
Something was creeping from up behind me, I just knew. Creeps Creeps Creeps...
Then everything was brutally revealed--the same icy feeling spiralling down my spine.
Those shouts; those admirations!
* * * *
I was too eager not to talk to him, but there wasn't much of an amiable conversation between us anyway. I reckoned that a long time ago...
"What happens if I don't make it in time?" I asked.
"You fall," he mumbled. "You fall fall fall until there's nothing left no more."
"Now, I'm here. Packing. All along this too familiar dialogue we must have shared some minutes ago------no, wait a minute-----last night!"
So this was a comeback of that scenario. The way I said 'waaaait a minute....' struck me as oddly familiar as well. As if someone, a friend, a long-lost buddy, was speaking through me like a see-through boombox..
"Dance with me?"
I nodded. "No."
