After the grand collapse of time, right before earth's gasp-inducing finale, Richard was disoriented. His head felt like a bobber struggling against a spawning current. His hands were always full of something.
On the drive to work, he ate a croissant with his left hand and used an electric razor to scrape the stubble from his chin with his right. He steered with his knees, hugging the center line like a tight-rope walker.
Between bites, he conducted business on his hands-free, shouting over the whirr of the razor. He promptly forgot any point he made.
It was 7:00am, the sun was just struggling upward, the business day was just pecking out of its shell.
This isn't a story. I have mental snapshots as proof; I'll show you. Jump on in (you can enter through my ear). Have a seat on a capillary or lay prone on the fluffy grey matter. Relax. Take this picture album and turn slowly. Savor it. Really savor it. You'll be amazed, I'm sure, but not surprised.
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