It is 12 in the Turkish coffeehouse and something is wrong; I walk, passing the window, I look up but struggle to remember which one; It rains then stops then rains again. I stand listening to the organ fill the room, I love organ music, its so vast; I think of her walking in and walking to greet her in that vast noise, a sea of sound, that other world which is always there, yet always out of reach because we can never agree on when exactly to go there; but she never does. After the noise dies I stand it its silence looking.

My friend does not enjoy the moose; she is in another world and my moose is not welcome there. It takes a while for her to see me; I try to see what she sees instead; the patterns on the guns, the small shells like the ones she used to collect because she’s like a shell, the small animals, pretty handwriting, earrings, Osiris (god of life and death). She glances in and out of perspective, behind things, to other places and times where no one follows. We pass queen Victoria on ether side; like time; we are time - front to back, gone then bright and blonde again, an eternity in that moment. What is eternity? If not life and death. I make silly plans that will not happen.

When she gets up from the bus stop I watch her hair as it drifts away. Like dawn and dusk, it glitters as it fades, and all thats left is monochrome. Will she look back, she does not. I sit and wait in case she returns, but she will not. A man asks me if it is the correct place to catch his bus, I tell him Iv never ridden the bus and never will.