Leaning to one side
I have the horse song in my head, I said.
Horse song?
Billy was a horse, I said.
Ah.
The passing of days is something of a mystery. The computers on the floor are stripped down to their boards, baring their chips and connectors without so much as a blush. The boxes peer at me out of the corner of their cardboard eyes - I swear one or two of them purred, and one threw up an alarm clock - I tried not to look at them, telling them to shush, I checked my mental inventory and wished it could morph into reality. My mother was afraid to set foot in my bedroom and she doesn't think I know enough about people.
Time being buried in code, getting my Murakami fix whilst waiting for trains that would never arrive, listening to Josh Rouse whenever I remember to press the play button instead of just wearing my earphones - the rest of the time I hear Beethoven. I thought of her as she sat with her notebook on her lap and spoke to me about lacking inspiration. Once or twice, finger-advice wraggled at me from the textbook of unwritten shoulds and should-nots, seemingly with the tone of voice of one three times my age.
Strange too, that I could remember his feet with uncanny clarity.
Posted by sniffles at May 29, 2002 03:05 PM