Crowds. Crowds upon crowds. Our own crowd a cell within a supercrowd. Instances drifting, or perhaps forced by momentum — theirs or others’ — along the thoroughfares of a nexus.
A low-slung building, a crowded foyer, fumbling for tickets.
And then, a decision. You know what? Never mind, my dear. We can always go see Dear be impressively itself. We have a standing invitation to every one of its exhibitions, even if only as audience rather than participant. We are closer to it than most, yes?
And so we head instead to a club. We dance a while, we drink rather a lot. We pick up some more extreme intoxicants off the exchange, something more akin to pot but with a touch more energetic body feel to counteract the impending heaviness of the alcohol.
And then we ditch the club and go for pizza. Not good pizza, mind, but shitty, greasy pizza, the kind that sits in the stomach like a stone. We get it to go, two huge slices, and decide on a park sim, somewhere where it always looks like it has just rained, where the night is dark and the streetlights a golden yellow, reflecting placidly off puddles and wet pavement.
And perhaps we turn down the intensity of the intoxication, just to half of what it was. Enough that we can stay floaty but not truly inebriated, and perhaps I hum little snippets of music to you, conducting with my finger as though that will better portray my intent.
And then home to our shared bed.
(Art by @roxannarachnid)
