"This is my question to you," she said. "How do you expect to change the world, lying there on that mattress with the stuffing spilling out, three burnt out joints (not right to the end because you got distracted) nestling each other by your elbow, your mind full of monkeys against poles and pigeon feathers falling out of windows like grotesque feathery waterfalls and crazy metal edged tops spinning around in patterns and not much else. How do you expect to change the world?"

"It's easy, man."

A tilt of the head, an inquiring look.

The tightening of eyes could be a clue to the shadows taking shape, but then again maybe not. It doesn't matter because the words are being spoken now, slowly, thoughtfully, drifting out and sunning themselves in patches on the faded wall.

"I'll get tired of the things I see eventually and leave my room to look for something new."

She doesn't say it because he won't believe her but it's so easy to get used to that room.

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