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That was That
June 30th, 2004
Tomorrow promised less rain, but my patience had long since worn thin with all but the French speaking bar tender who convinced me to have a drink and wait it out.
I had decided to not immediately replace the watch that lay at the bottom of the lake as a subtle but poignant message to my companion. I was well aware it was a somewhat spiteful reaction, but it seemed justified as we wrung our shirts and undergarments.
One day, when that lake bed is dry, thousands of years from now, someone will find this archaic harness of our collective perception and return it to me.
As I watched the boy with the magic brain page sift through the pages of my childhood cross-legged on the floor, Alec slid a glass of Campari and soda in front of me.
He stared placidly at the rain, and through the soft rhythmic tapping on the tin roof of the lounge, he smiled. I began to raise my hand in protest, but he gently pushed down to the bar. "Enjoy yourself, my friend, it's later than you think.", he said, patting my shoulder reassuringly.
.
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