I talk but there’s no banter.
That’s to myself, of course.
The question of what if I
begin to answer myself is
silly, as, of course I do, to
provide that tiny bit of no
stalgia. One tires of a no
thing response, a blankety
blank, so I do my best to
fill the space with some
thing. So the idea that
the moment you respond
to your own question isn’t
as ominous as all that. It’s
a pleasure to have some
company. And when it’s
me, I’ve such a knack for
throwing predictability so
off-kilter that the entertain
ment can go on for hours.
And then, of course, it’s
time to sleep again. And
in dreams, what joy; for here
comes all of the people again.
