With the Sun burning holes in everyone and the fog entering us at will, the world is pushing us around.
We decide, we don’t need the world and find ways to propel ourselves, creatively, through our planet’s atmosphere.
Our flesh and bone leave home, playing out various mimes to our past interests; some cycled, some swam the breast stroke, some sat and watched TV and waited to be carried by the wind.
Meanwhile as we render our hobbies useless we’re now aboard nothing except ourselves. At the point of entry to a most spectacular bar, from such a devastating height our beliefs are shattered.
As we continue to travel in the bar, through portholes we catch a glimpse of a traditional marble, so small, a ball of purity with such an engaging transmission of strength. We are beginning to slur our thoughts, slouching, getting drunk at the all night bar.
We decide that we think it is late, but right now, it will be forever late. Together, we all agree, that for the time being, we are better off loitering here.
Then the last order bell rings. The queue is infinite. Some-kind of door opens and creates a powerful vacuum, it spins us around playfully like bland snowflakes; head to tail chain of unwanted meat. We are out of our control.
Whilst spinning, we discover that the galaxy is a comic genius, when the punchline is timed perfectly against us and we all float off towards billions of twinkling lights. To the next planet then, maybe, but first we must become sober and enrol, for there must be a job waiting for us all.