Dinner Jackets 2013 and 2023 or New York City
Secretly... you wont know what I'm doing when I'm staying, dancing with these invisible creatures who are communing with only me
your doubts are alleviated, not by my prying into the details and laboriously churning through the density of your past, because I can't see it.
And so you hear, and RSVP to the invitation that you can't see either. What you can feel, however is the untrappable You that lives behind my eyes.
All this, and it looks like we're having dinner at a tiny Thai place in Manhattan. The kind of place with wallpaper that says, "notice me, but no need to comment, because I'm here on purpose". It's still crowded at 3am and I'm certain that the sting of the hot and sour soup and the steam from dumplings rising up from the kitchen has given me the spontaneous ability to speak Thai.
All this while I wasn't listening to your story, but was listening wholly to you.
...suddenly I know how to do everything I've always wanted to. Every flick of my chopsticks here in this intimate tube of my own grand central station has the staying power of eternity- and the specificity and practicality of earthen elements for nourishment and containership.
They drop into my belly like coins in an intergalactic pinball game. Complete with smell-o vision, touch-o vision, taste-o-vision, and maybe especially... dance-o-vision.
We leave the restaurant, and as my jacket becomes another layer of my skin which could never need any protection- I notice that you've been 'unconsciously' drawing what looks like an ancient map. You say, you made it for me, because everything you do is for me.