Reading in the presence of a gaggle of early twenties all smoking corn cob pipes purchased for the occasion, calling attention to them incessantly. If interrupted by a question from one of them, my reaction would be one or the other.
Given a mood, a certain shaft of light through the opposing window, I would calmly walk to the one with the soul patch and draw a line down in my mind to his Adam's apple and spread fingers from thumb. A series of acidic jigs to a big band tune in my head and everything would be done. The police would arrive as I was just finishing chapter 6 of my book. There would be shouting, disjointed movements - nothing like the fine dancing that got me here - probably a little excess.
Given a mood, a certain shaft of light through the opposing window, I would calmly walk to the one with the soul patch and draw a line down in my mind to his Adam's apple and spread fingers from thumb. A series of acidic jigs to a big band tune in my head and everything would be done. The police would arrive as I was just finishing chapter 6 of my book. There would be shouting, disjointed movements - nothing like the fine dancing that got me here - probably a little excess.
Else, the world would be kinder. Eyes bulging and voice begraveled I would stand on the coffee table strewn with magazines and scream toward the ceiling. I would point in all directions. I would know the knowledge they seek.
"One p.m....It is one p.m! Please make note of that information and apply it to any circumstances it might affect."
Their surprised reaction would ease my anxiety about this next generation. Good to see the younger ones a little afraid of something, even if it is kindness.
Either way in egress I would cast a fleeting glance back to what is left behind - used tobacco, the bloody cliche of modernism.
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