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If you wait until ten o’clock I’ll take you to the coffee place where they pour steamed
milk on your cappuccino in the shape of hearts and trees. If you don’t want to wait
you can go play, or if you want to go now, we can go now. I can just stop writing this
and we can go.
Down on the sidewalk outside our place will be that guy who made the sea-monkey
theatre. He’ll draw back the blue curtains decorated with crowns and castles, and reveal
the aquarium set up on a little metal table behind it. Then he’ll play the sea-monkeys’
favorite music, which as everyone knows, is harp music. When he strums the harp, it
seems like they are not swimming but flying around their little plastic castle, like fairies
or angels. God knows how long sea-monkeys live. But they lead really fabulous lives that
we can’t even begin to understand, and their concept of time is nothing like ours. If they
die, for example, they can be resurrected. We call it reconstituted - but it’s the same thing
as far as they are concerned.
Out in front of the coffee place those girls will be climbing trees. They’ll be wearing
candy necklaces, and their heart-shaped fake tattoos will be a little faded. You can climb
while I order our caps, but I won’t put sugar in yours because I don’t want to ruin the
steamed-milk picture on top. I’ll put your cup next to me on the bench while you climb
until you feel like coming down. And I’ll drink my coffee and smoke and read. Those
girls in the tree have learned how to curse in several languages and also how to hang
upside-down by their knees. If you want to practice those things yourself, I’ll spot you,
or cover my ears.
If we get hungry later, we can eat. And if we get tired, we can go home. And if we get
bored, we can make up some jokes. If our apartment was a sea-monkey theatre, the
curtains that concealed it would be decorated with pictures of cars and houses, and the
guy running it would play the banjo.
Inside our little apartment, as it would be revealed when the curtains are pulled back, we
would be cooking, or playing cards, or talking about things. And the creatures watching
from outside, whoever they might be, could read our lips and our expressions. They
would say: That one’s the mother, and that one’s the kid. See how she’s laughing when
he stands up and does that thing?
They would say: It seems like they are dancing to that twangy music, the way they move
their arms around. And they would say: Who knows how long they live, but they lead
really fabulous lives that we can’t begin to understand. When they die, for example, they
can’t be reconstituted, so every beautiful thing that happens gets added to the next until
it has a weight - see how the weight holds them to the floor of their castle so they don’t
drift off? It’s the same weight that makes them laugh like that.
At ten o’clock, we can go do all that stuff, but if you don’t want to wait you can go play,
or stay here. I can stop writing, and we can just stay right here.
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