A light sequence illuminated the dingy carpeted walkway. Residual happiness encased, displays fragments of a better life, revived under anemic waves of light. I near the end of the walkway to an ornate elevator, the operator presses a button, and off I go to the top.
A fluky encounter with Mr. Dick delivered meaning to the ramble of the night. He stood perplexed by his mirrored habitat, consoled by infinite projections of himself. Such despair sheltered in the stubbiness of his chin, was slightly relieved by my intrusion.
Then there was Bobby, entertained by the altered view created by his fingers; didn’t say much, mainly watched, me.