8ball says, no way.
The dog lay in an awkward position, but motionless by the roadside. Its eyes were closed forever.
Seven days. Rain, shine, four rainbows.
Today, it has been reduced to nothing but a pile of grimy fur that is hard to miss. I cannot even make head or tail out of it anymore.
It is like watching a drive-by National Geographic or Animal Planet programme that documents the decomposition of an unfortunate animal. From skin to bones; from dust to nothingness.
Fascinating, in a way. But it reminds me too much of vulnerability, of mortality. These never bring good tidings.
Where did it go?
Where would you go?
Where would I go?
Channel surfing. Press. Click. Pause.
“Remember what you were like when you first walked through my door, jittery as a junebug? And now just look at you. You sure did surprise me, Neo, and you still do.”
Shit. It has been an awfully long time.
A very familiar sight on screen, but one that I have not seen in quite a while. Now, this solves the mystery of what I will be doing this weekend.
No, stop asking me how will I be ushering in the new year. Is it so bad to say that I just want to stay at home?
Green code marathon, baby!
On air now: Swimmers, Broken Social Scene