It's dark, not the kind where you're tripping over the pile of unwashed laundry, or where you fumble desperately for a light switch. Or a bra strap, I guess it depends where you're sitting. It's more that dark where the light from the television is adequate to the tasks at hand.
Why do I play the host? Some odd sense of responsibility, I expect. I pour a rum and coke, and three vodkas. You would think there would be some variation, but I suppose that the familiar is something comforting.
Into the living room, vodka, rum and coke, vodka, and one for me. I think for a moment about turning down the television, but what would be the point? Shattered glass and crimson streaks of grime might be better than another round of Martha Stewart, but anything gets tired after repeated viewing.
Beautiful missile shield there, Dubya.
So they don't want the drinks. Fucking ingrates.
Not much less than I expected, though. No one's been here for what seems forever and a half. It just is not what it used to be. It never will be again, I expect.
Who will carry me?
I keep looking for some sign, some indication that there is more to this than what lies before my eyes. High minded intellectuals spent decades, centuries, even more, praising the infinite capacity of man to outlive his own frail flesh.
Wouldn't they be disappointed to know that the sum total of human knowledge was spread out over the stratosphere, or at least what was left up there? It's hotter than it was this time last month? Year?
When everything was the way it was before, I could barely remember what day it was when I was in the middle of two weeks paid vacation. Permanent leave hasn't exactly honed my timekeeping skills to any great degree.
It's definitely hotter. That much I can be sure of. Maybe it's summer, or maybe it's just that much less of something this place needs. Ozone slowly baking off into space.
Well, if no one else wants them, I am not about to let a few perfectly good drinks go to waste.
A scratch, something in the dust.
I spin on my heels. Nothing has moved without the bidding of the wind in entirely too long.
Imagination is truly a dangerous thing.