i want a perfect body i want a perfect soul

i sit resolutely, refusing to turn around and acknowledge the person that has just pulled into the yard.

"yes, because pretending that they don't exist means they'll leave, right?"

ok, so it's childish and not real kosher to pretend someone doesn't exists, but quite frankly, i've had enough of consumers for a few days and just wanted them all to go away. until the consumer revealed himself that is...

i'm transported back in time by the way he includes everyone, even the damned cat, in a conversation. his hair is no longer even remotely dark, but stands straight up as always. [the direct result, or so i postulate, from the electric shock treatments obtained in morocco as a youth]. his shoes are even still held together with bits of string, and his belt is the same damned one that is about five sizes to big, but, as he says, "gets the fuckin' job done!" i'm reminded of a dozen never-ending evenings spent at his house in his back garden, sitting in arm chairs and watching fires demolish wood to build citadels out of ash. in the summer we'd have wine, and in the winters, our fingers would firmly clasp mugs filled with steaming tea. just like those nights, our conversations this evening drifted and tangented with no clear direction.

i'm reminded of the comfort of old friends, even though he's twice my age and then some. i'm also filled with a sort of nostalgic feeling.

does anyone else want to have a bonfire?