Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Sinking deeper into those blue cloth seats. A thick, hazy fog covers our eyes. Our minds. Talk is cheap, so we just listen. It's free. Running through the kitchen, screaming. We bump into each other, and trays soar through the air like tiny brown flying saucers. One hit's a lady in the head, the other crashes down into the slippery floor. Exhausted. The trek home is short, losing our inhibitions, even quicker. Mistakes are made, lives are lost, but some will emerge triumphant and stand atop those lush green grasses, survey the land, and sow a new crop. I taste it and sink back into that deep blue.