number 2

Meeting on a bench outside St. Luke’s, and then buying a ticket, and then listening to transformational spectrality sat on two chairs, a lemon width between us. Almost falling asleep twice, retrospectively prodded to stay awake, and then the break where you disappear and I don’t, enclosed by windows I can’t reach. Marxism burning red in the faces of the masses who are me. Listening to music with our eyes, while our ears follow, like lip-reading. Leaving and never wanting to go back.

Driving through Borough and Stockwell, and talking of dance music like philosophy, and of wanting to meet more musicians. Confusing left with right, wrong with true, and saying, just saying. Staying awake and arriving and departing, words left behind like the dissonant notes of a piano. Returning early to another in the aftermath, and not wanting. Confusing coffee and charlie, staying awake and never going back.