York Street

As the revolutions slow, anybody who isn't jumping rings will end up just as they are now, just as they've always been. I tried to take them two at a time but the glint of the sun off the polished aluminum surface blinded me and I slipped and slid, almost over the edge. As I lay on my face, my elbow aching from the impact I looked up and saw a little girl laughing at me. I smiled back at her, agreeing that I must have looked like a jack-ass. Her name was Lila and she had a flower in her hair. I saw her again, about two years later but she didn't remember me. I'm not surprised by that. I discovered some time ago that I seem to be the only one who remembers. Its made me kind of crazy, I guess. When I consider that the answers most people are looking for are offered up every milli-second of every day without them understanding, it makes me the sane one and them the crazies. Lemon has an inkling but he's also got some serious issues that he can't seem to shake himself awake to. He's compulsive and paranoid but keeps so quiet that even the psychotics leave him alone. Like dogs who can sense death, they circle around him trying to avoid being noticed. He will combust someday and if the fire can burn out the memories that haunt him he might just remember that we've done this a thousand times before and that the next time, if we try hard enough, we might just make it out of here alive.