Its not a dream either.

“You should probably hold my hand.”

“I bet.”

I look around for a threat, as though the intentions of a stranger are lit in red, blinking, far enough above the horizon to be seen anywhere, against the backdrop of the sun, in front of more red, even really close so that I think I may have to look straight up to see it.  Nothing.  Of course nothing.  I should probably hold her hand.

Needing, it makes the absurd plausible.  Being led by a child, and she is a child.  Even if you stood beside me now and saw, and saw even her silhouette.  Saw the red lips, the out of place red lips, or the tight clothes, the lycra, is that lycra?  Even if you compared her to me, that’s telling, even if you felt her confidence, her sense of place in violence?  Is that what I am trying to say?  Even if you were right here with me you would know she was a child too, I hope.

“I’m not gonna do that whole villain hero thing with you.” I tell her grabbing her hand.

“Oh, that’s a shame, it sounds fun, what is it?”

“Nothing is that clear.  I know nothing is that clear.” We are crossing a street.  All streets are too wide on foot.  “Its people, hey.” I pull her too me a little so she looks at me.  I pulled her arm, the one I held, that she was holding me with really, I pulled it for eye contact, to tell her.  I guess I needed some emphasis.  “I know it’s all just people.” I reiterated.  She said ok, maternally, only not so much.

“I know that we are all in stages of friendship.” We were half way up a block that looked more like New York than anything in California.

“First, it’s a coma not a dream.  Second, I don’t give a shit about relationships.” She says then pulls me around a corner and pulls me towards her and tiptoes to kiss me on the lips.  I do, though some unconscious confusion in my execution has me saying what, like I am waiting for a whisper and putting my hands on her shoulders like I don’t know what, like I am going to lift her up or something.  I make a noise when she kisses me like Hmmm.  The noise sounds like a question.  When she flat feet’s herself again I have opened my mouth and am alternating looking at her eyes and her mouth and I can feel my own moving, my own mouth.

“Everything is a coma with you.”


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