thenewpope

Vivaldi pulsates through the room. Those lovely, minute intricacies falling on deaf ears. I hear someone say "This is that garbage they play in theaters before the movie starts..." The notes suddenly drop like lead weights to the ground below; its as if they know when they're not appreciated. My eyes make their way back down to the sheet of rules that was handed to me, number seven reads: "Do not jump off of train while in motion" I smile, remembering to keep that in mind.
Death is hanging out behind me, wearing a Jim Beam cap...I never figured the Grim Reaper one for hats, but I also never figured he'd hit on the bartender with as much vulgarity as he did (I always knew I'd get on well with death). Staring out the window, I realize the rhythmically poetic beauty of those perfectly formed creations of God is the only thing keeping me from breaking rule number seven altogether. Breathing in that electric air, I am more alive than I have been in a very long time. I look over my shoulder at my morbid friend (whiskey sour in hand) and I can tell he feels me.