the preparations exhausting, and the corridor that seemed endless. and later, it was all there, the little orchestra with the slicked-back hair, the tables set up, glances frightened, or brazen to hide the same fear. even though what I remain of that evening will be only two of us, and not that long wait, and not the music, and not everything else. we remained attached to each other all the time. strange ending for a story ripped from the posters of the film. and for the two of us, a bow on stage with the lights out.
the dj scattered handfuls a desolate joy. It is that we stopped in the corridor, watching the time dilate, and our perceptions even further. all dressed ripping off flaps of tissue, and instead we, that we did not need clothes, to take shelter under mountains of faux fur. It was good coffee. for our mouths kneaded with tar. and the city lay on the hills, and that night seemed invaded by curious travelers, shepherds with their flocks, and many small interesting mechanical s