She

The pattern on the table looked like a bunch of dead lights on some forgotten spaceship in some crappy science fiction movie. A bunch of women were humming in a hollow way from the stereo - deep space or deep sea? The cars on the road were throwing curious lights on the road - a halogen siesta. And of course, those darn sodium vapour lamps were there too.

I observed the stream of conciousness that was escaping my brain faster than a roadrunner. Nonsense, basically. Spaceships and exploding stars and a lot of humming.

Conversations. I was deprived of them. I was undertaking a mini-vipasana - no talking. I am a listener. I listen to stories from enthusiastic lips. But the only lips that evening were that of a stray cat's.

"So, what do you think of spaceships?" she asked me with those dark eyes of hers, watching me from across the mocha fumes.

"We need more of them. I want something to remind me that it's NOT a small world," I replied.

"But don't you think that their absence proves that it is a huge, huge world?"

She had a point there. Can't help losing myself in your eyes - she was singing along with the stereo.

"Yes. They are huge. And deep," I said with a stupid grin. She feigned innocence. You're my shooting star! Why was I even singing this?

"Are you trying to flirt with me?" she asked.

"Of course not! I am just pulling you in. Urging you to teach me."

"Teach you what?"

"About socks and their cosmic significance."

"Oh no! You are no way close to that kind of evolution. I would have to start from butterfly effect and chaos theory."

"I am listening," said I.

"Meow," said the cat.