Enya

The world is fog and mist. Lupus, on my right, hacks the mad cough. The
fog swirls slightly in repose. Above us, the light wanders widly and I
count each photon crossing ferry on the night. He stands across from me,
smoking that cigarette of his. It is white, and so's the soft skin of
her legs. I'm somewhere over there by the coughing and the distant light
of orion. The bowl is cash, though, and the accounts have been over
drawn. There's not much else to do but hunch over my pager and
contemplate.

What to ponder? Are we two mice bent on world domination? The dice hit
the paper and the pages ripple slightly. Its all physics, see. F = ma.
The parabolic equation driven by ballistic porportions. What was the
angle of the throw? What is the g constant? What is the friction
coefficiant of paper? What price bananas. Are you my devil in a blue
dress?

Always, the laughter. It burbles up as the dice pound. Send in the
clowns? Are we sick of questions? She pushes my leg away and exhales.
The resin cracks against the dust, sending up little joyous particles.
They follow the path up, channeling potential energy from kinetic energy
at an invwrse ratio until kinetic crashes and potential is unlimited.
180 degree turn. My life.

The indians apply drone to their music. Its a universal om. Scientists
say that the om is beige. I'm not quite so sure, I think its a bit more
off white. Tide would have a ballgame with this. Oh, we thought the
universe was white. We even names it mr. White. And, then, tarantino
co-opted him for a flick. He ends up dead. The universe wavers and then
blinks out.

~ For we walk by faith, not by sight ~