Certain people always say we should go back to nature. I notice they never say we should go forward
He makes his way from the bar to a low couch in the corner. The leather is supple, brown, well worn. It gives comfortably beneath him. He nips at his dark beer gingerly, almost hesitantly. With the least hint of a sigh, a prolonged exhalation, an event more continuous than discrete, Clayton places his glass on the coffee table.
Eyes drift. Several hundred lights suspended over the tree lodged in the center of the bar. They flicker like dancing nymphets--dyad dryads. Nymphets. Nabokov decided it would be appropriate to call girls 9-14 nymphets. They were all his narrator could see. The rest was a haze of vast, misty sea. Just like that one; just like her. Oh no.
She stands, elbows and small of back against the bar, drink in hand, makes eye contact with him, lurches forward, coming toward. Hihowsitgoing?
Oh sorry, I'm full.
What? What do you mean you’re full? There's no one sitting with you.
No I didn't mean the couch. I meant me. I'm full. I'm sure you're very nice, but I'm not trying to meet anyone new.
That's absurd I'm sure you meet new people all the time.
His head shakes from side to side. I was doing fine today until you came over.
What do you mean you're not trying to meet anyone new? Like romantically? Because you're reading a lot into small talk at a bar.
No, not like that. I just know so many people it's become unwieldy. Hundreds of thousands of names and faces, other’s thoughts, predilections, places and shared memories. It's just too much. I'm full.
Then why did you come here?
I don't know. Habit? Why does anyone come here?
To see and be seen I guess.
That's the problem. I suppose I did come here to see, but without that extraneous part. I imagine it's not extraneous, but I didn't want the reverse.
You can't just sit and watch without becoming a part of it.
Yeah that's the problem. It all started when you came over, so I'd like it if you would just go.
What? I thought we were having a nice conversation. That's a good ice-breaker. I'm full. I'll have to try that one.
No, seriously. I want you to leave. Like I said, I'm full.
Eyes drift. Several hundred lights suspended over the tree lodged in the center of the bar. They flicker like dancing nymphets--dyad dryads. Nymphets. Nabokov decided it would be appropriate to call girls 9-14 nymphets. They were all his narrator could see. The rest was a haze of vast, misty sea. Just like that one; just like her. Oh no.
She stands, elbows and small of back against the bar, drink in hand, makes eye contact with him, lurches forward, coming toward. Hihowsitgoing?
Oh sorry, I'm full.
What? What do you mean you’re full? There's no one sitting with you.
No I didn't mean the couch. I meant me. I'm full. I'm sure you're very nice, but I'm not trying to meet anyone new.
That's absurd I'm sure you meet new people all the time.
His head shakes from side to side. I was doing fine today until you came over.
What do you mean you're not trying to meet anyone new? Like romantically? Because you're reading a lot into small talk at a bar.
No, not like that. I just know so many people it's become unwieldy. Hundreds of thousands of names and faces, other’s thoughts, predilections, places and shared memories. It's just too much. I'm full.
Then why did you come here?
I don't know. Habit? Why does anyone come here?
To see and be seen I guess.
That's the problem. I suppose I did come here to see, but without that extraneous part. I imagine it's not extraneous, but I didn't want the reverse.
You can't just sit and watch without becoming a part of it.
Yeah that's the problem. It all started when you came over, so I'd like it if you would just go.
What? I thought we were having a nice conversation. That's a good ice-breaker. I'm full. I'll have to try that one.
No, seriously. I want you to leave. Like I said, I'm full.