No, seriously, is there a map?
I wake up one evening, a beer and a nap Friday, and have to find a woman.
She had been lying next to me in a bed cleaner and softer than mine, sunstream-lit. Facing me, a melting dream pooling at my edges. “Please?”
So I get up and go. I do check my eyes for sleep before closing the door.
The park is the usual way, past the bars and the street dining, the crowds of revelling faces and the gleaming that could be for me. I walk at a pace between overdue and making the scene, legs saying “passing through”, manner “might stay awhile”.
Friday night. Work sets, Play rises, and all the beasts get to it. Safari has begun, please keep your windows up. Eye contact is at your own risk. Keep anything you wish to hold on to away from the moving parts, at all times. Be alert, watch the fringes. Your safety is your responsibility. There will be no stoppages. No blood no foul. Welcome!
I’m usually asleep by this time. Bypassing all this bullshit via sugar overdose and surrender to sleep. I don’t dig the safari. Nobody knows where the cages end, who’s behind the bars and who’s rattling them. I don’t want to be part of the show.
Fortunately there’s another way to the bridge. Train sidings and orange-tinted asphalt. High fences and dogshit. Other Friday-beasts scurrying past just as fast as you, afraid of staining their sequins.
She didn’t say where she was. She didn’t say anything except that one word.
Nobody says “please” anymore. Nobody I know.