Your hand on my thigh. We sat on this cold couch entangled like vines climbing up the side of an office building while inside, the men sleep on their desks, ties hanging down. Everyone needs a break. Every office boy trapped in a business suit fit for a man needs a crazy tie day. Hawaiian shirt day. Because every one of them have been to those remote, remote islands in the pacific in order to fit in on Hawaiian shirt day. This species of vine hated to be ignored and pulled the building down with force, a rippling effect from bottom to top, but no glass panes shattered, they simply melted and assimilated into a temporary glass pond where hundred of ducks immediately attempted to break through, with intent, to the imaginary water source below. They look at themselves, realize they are ducks, and decide this time to fly north for the winter, to find a black diamond and excitement. The building came down like a stretched out slinky let go. Almost as if nothing was destroyed, that the building merely became an underground inversion of itself to match the underground inversions of all of us in the tunnels and caves of our doppleganger culture which we aren't allowed to believe in, like jesus and leprechauns, and pots of gold, gold, silver, or chocolate coins. An edible currency is a moral dilemma but allows the donation to a deprived man a greater decision. Food or booze? Eat or save? Only the office boys turned accidentally into men that were awake during the great entangling, the news outlets are calling it, were injured in the sudden inversion and collapse of that grey monster of a building they climbed through the gnarled teeth to get inside. Luckily, all of them slept with their heads on their forearms on their cubicle desks, dreaming of the forests, when the angry mother nature struck. With calmed heart rates and dreamy, nice thoughts, they were suddenly suspended in air, but did not plummet to the earth out their reverie, but allowed the dream to carry them, softly down, like a downward drifting rose pedals, to wake up upside down in a cavernous wasteland where nature had ultimately lead them. There is a breaking point for this fight between private enterprise and beautiful nature. Sometimes there is communication from that unspeakable vast diversity of plants and animal life in its attacks and subtle whisperings. We must listen with our ears and eyes to ground or else lose everything.
Your hand on my thigh. It is cold. Really cold. We can see our breath out in front of us like speech bubbles in cartoons. We are not talking. Just waiting for the warmth of our bodies to either cease or counteract the cold, tightening air.
