I sat in a basement today and watched friends take down circus decorations from a surprise party we threw a month ago. A friend spoke in a Scottish brogue and we discussed social justice and science fiction and whether or not I like social justice’s role in science fiction. And somewhere in London someone is laying on a sidewalk bleeding to death.
I sat in a village green today on a wooden bench surrounded by hard bound fairy tales, philosophy, and Theodore Roosevelt. I could not see his face on the bench next to me was turning a rubik’s cube at a maddening pace. Cube in hand spinning in a well practiced motion. My friend was off somewhere buying olive oil. Two women in different shades of green jackets, one meant for fashion the other functionality, pass each other in the lush grass. They shared words I could not hear about something the fashionable jacket’s dog did. I could hear gentle, but different laughs ripple out from beneath coated nylon and gabardine. And somewhere across the country a friend is plastered to her car seat in an accident.
Today I sat on a couch and listened to a friend tell me about the play he is in. He is blonde and American and maybe 5’5. The character is plays in the production is a tall, red headed, Scottish-Canadian so bound to be very convincing. The play is supposed to be serious, and melancholic, but also smart, darkly comedic, and existential. “Maybe they all die in the end as they fight their way into Normandy? The author left it intentionally ambiguously.” So maybe they bleed out on a Norman beach, I can only hope they left a forwarding address.