Friday, January 31, 2003

I sit on the wall, legs dangling outward; the mutt grabbing at my toes.Vacillating between the ticks on his forehead and the future of my job. The train trundles past, echoing in the back of my forehead. Remnants of childhood security. It's quiet. No quality to it though. Not empty. Not full. Just a part of the night. I should sleep now. But way too much noise in my head. Endless un-sleep.

The rickshaw draws up at the gate. I step out to see the face. It had to be him. Stealing up silently as the curtain rises. The foreplay to performance. The face in the neon-light. Sharp and haggard. Wide generous mouth. And then come the profanities, the inanities, the meaninglessness of it all. Audience in line. And then he marches in, volume turned high. Filling up the spaces.

I climb back onto the wall. Disruption is a temporary phenomenon. The dog's around. I stare into space only to be able to see myself as part of the space. A community of double-storeyed buildings on barren avenues.

He calls out. I trudge in. And go sit on him. His arms around me, his head in the crook of my neck. Rocking. This must be what they call comfort.

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