Wednesday, October 12, 2005

business partners

holey (past)

Black cars look better in the shade, therefore white cars look better in the sun. You know a guy whose logic works like this. Unerring in the simplicity of his reasoning, he's satisfied in his ignorance, and roughly casts about his flawed opinions to all who will listen. Ratiocination - perfect only to him. But his opinion of himself is all that matters, anyway. There’s a lot of talk, a veritable avalanche. Somewhere along the line, a plan is proposed and accepted. A deal is struck. Papers are signed. You’re swept away.

holy (present)

Short staccato bursts from the trumpet, the wail of a sax, the bass drum heartbeat, and here's you at the edge of controlled chaos, snapping your fingers in the offbeat. The dance floor stretches before you, a sea bopping heads, and swinging arms, no longer made up of individuals, but existing as one entity. Beyond this, the band plays, whipping this frenzied mass to life. You catch the eye of the conga player, his palms feverishly slapping the drums. A bead of sweat rolls from his brow, down his face, and hangs from his chin for a second before falling. There's the slight nod of recognition. Shirt pressed, hair immaculate, you tap your toes in shiny wingtips. Tossing back the rest of your gin and tonic, a cute dress materialises before you, smiling. Then her hand is in yours and you're out on the floor again.

wholly (future)

There's not much here anymore. Like a Hermit crab inhabiting a found shell, a bank has moved into your old nightclub. Protecting its soft underbelly with the walls that once protected yours, the bank is completing a circle. As much as you hate its presence and detest all it stands for, the bank has become very important to you. Just have a seat in this chair, the manager will be with you shortly. Black lights have turned to buzzing fluorescents. Already getting a headache, you rub your eyes. There's a far away tune. Listen for the rim shots, follow them - they'll lead the way. Toes begin to tap, and fingers begin to snap in the offbeat. You can almost taste the lemon twist. The bubbles of tonic dance on your tongue. Taking a sip, a black suit materialises before you wearing a fake smile. Then his hand is in yours and you're back in reality again.

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