the sound of interrupted bursts of hushed gunfire finds its place among the quiet corners of the crowded mind. its source being the sleek black laptop set upon the ground, its glow whitens the intense furrowed features on his face as his fingers and hands move frantically over the keyboard and mouse, hunched over the screen, sat cross legged in a pair of blue shorts and faded old t-shirt. on the bed a youth with short spiky hair and clad in a wife-beater reclines on his side like a sacred statue of contentment, similarly bewitched by the artificial light emitting forth from his magical box, eyes set in cold satisfaction. words in a pleasant foreign tongue stream forth with the bright intonation and calculated cadence of a young female showbiz professional with shiny hair tied back in a bun and wearing an impossibly neat cream colored business dress. her feminine articulations sound small and far away as if coming through a tiny tunnel from another world. the dim fluorescent tubes humbly cast their monochromatic light as the portable fan whirrs on quietly in the background, comfortably ignoring the organisms occupied in their respective reveries, their preferred abstractions - the hours don't matter in this realm of marble floor and wooden doors, of humans and their electronic escapes
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her hair elaborately done up revealing the nape of her neck delicately wrapped in layers of cloth hovering collar at the same time fitting yet loose her yukata draped over the soft curves of her shoulders billowing folds flowing elegantly free the vibrant coloured patterns of youth she at a distance walks gracefully her footsteps concealed in mystery like a flower afloat in still water voiceless zephyr that urges her onward toward the light in effortless procession
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streetlights and billboard signs whizz past against the pitch black evening backdrop. in front and behind, surrounded by the familiar glow of headlights and taillights - the tacit and tenuous solidarity of tired travelers trying to get home. a young girl's bright tones occasionally chime out a melody above the baritone hum of the car engine. in the enclosed darkness looking out at the scattered orbs of light, reminiscent of some sort of fort, three voices conjure up late night conversation and chortles and terrible renditions of popular songs as the road continually winds and disappears and rushes on soundlessly beneath us
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