"Could you repeat what you just said?"
"What, that there was orange food, orange drink, an orange hot-tub..."
"No, the part about your feet."
"What, that life is too short to wear boring shoelaces?"
The celphone plays a long classicalish tune. Ten, fifteen seconds. "Quite nice," I remark, "but I wonder if its owner is going to answer it."
The tune starts again. My seatmates on the bus smirk. thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. "Encore!", I yell.
Da capo al fine. It continues on as I get off at my stop. Perhaps someone's phone had fallen out on the bus and they were trying to contact whomever had recovered it?
"You have stars in your eyes," the girl at the check-out comments. (Checking me out?) It happens to be the truth.
"I /also/ have twinkles in my toes," I counter.
beep beepbeep
"What's the yarn for, star-man?"
"Pie."
"Pardon?"
"Scarf."
For the first time in recent memory, my wallet contains no money. It feels light, liberating. Rather than reminding me that I'm a bum, to me it feels like freedom. Its delightful weightlessness reminds me that rather than paper and metal in my pocket, I now carry more honest and essential things on my back - pears, yarn, stamps, and a ticket to travel.
Weeks ago I picked it up at the Sugar Refinery, a turquoise heart cut from cardboard and hand-lettered. It promotes tonight a fashion show "special event" - so special that, rave-like, it bears no address: only a phone number for information.
On the flipside is written in red cursive
"Allow your life to be filled with wonder."
This is foreshadowing.
in our last episode... | p_i-logs | and then, all of a sudden...