I can kind of envision a
snap. Projected.
A smile that
Could you please talk closer to the microphone? Thank you
And all the shadows man
so are you a political group?
For most we are writers and...
Do you believe in death?
What do you mean? Of course I believe in death. But I also believe in excess. Ever seen death?
No, no I don't think I have.
Well I have. Death calls upon a religious experience. It's contagious.
Contagious?
Yeah.
The camera rotates. He smiles calmly in the languid afternoon. Windows with their hollow eyes. The world is a film. A movie.
Snap. Projected.
I have other visions too.
Like?
I see this pigeon laying on the ground, like waiting. Waiting for death to come. And I remember thinking, what does it mean? What does it mean?
What did it mean?
I don't know? What does anything mean really? Were in such a hurry to give things meaning in an attempt to intrepid what isn't mathematical. Order is an illusion, don't you see?
Anymore visions?
Only a blooded knife. In my hand. It feels so heavy. I remember thinking and being truly surprised by it... like a child stumbling into a conversation. Understanding nothing. The first fear...
The camera rotates. Snap. Projected. Image. Smile. He flicks his finger on the microphone. Making a thumping sound. The interview ends. Everyone rushes off to somewhere else. It could be home. Or a mistress. Or death. A traffic jam. Or two strangers at a bus stop.
Time moves slowly in this awkward silence.