Smoke Twenty Six

Just as the last police barrier was being trundled off by truck you waltzed into the hotel via a kitchen door, one tall Korean sea monster with two giggling seaweed-clad hoju in tow. The reaction of the conference delegates was like two hundred dominoes going off in great spirals and cascades of laughter. Instead of astonished outrage, as I had expected, the plenary speaker and the magnate both burst into tears which later turned out to be laughter as well. You were clearly well-known to these people. High fives eventuated and you circled the room, dispensing little bits of OT wisdom. The cohort’s attention had not yet turned to your Australasian companions. Whose seaweed did begin to wilt. But who bravely endured a combined total of one thousand handshakes, hugs and back-slaps in return for unlimited champagne and a table out on the seaside balcony, where ice buckets had been provided for scotch drinkers and the sun began its long and languorous descent into a monstrous sea of its own. The dream interrupted when the dreamer was woken by the sound of a small alarm going off in the dark.

O hai, you were saying?