The next morning you clear patched in over the PCB’s secure line, and I could sit with the headset cradled in my arm, watching the morning through Windows, podding your voice’s every urgent burst. Proposing an informational kind of messing with the static stations on OT. OT, old tech, off topic. Your missives, fired like test volleys over my bow. A kind of faint brownout over the airwaves. You talked of jet planes dumping fuel in Korean airspace, KTX saboteurs, the general mayhem. We interrupted each other, our voices pluming through an array. I told you I’d taken an earworm tonic I bought by mistake at the convenience store. I said I was listening to vinyl records just like I’m hearing them for the first time. I mentioned geology, the grant. Then we were breathing like it was night and there was no sound in the cradle. Bars dropped and you were gone.
earworm tonic - fantastic!
“bars dropped and you were gone” - outstanding.
27 January 2008 at 9:52 am