Beer Deeds Feels the Stressful Merger
Our
entering the landscape was accompanied by a soundtrack comprised of the
throbbing of an ancient generator overlaid with the cries of distressed
seagulls and several people shouting in a foreign tongue. As we came within view of the temple (or
whatever it was), however, this sound abruptly ceased and was replaced by this
music that sounded like a classical symphony played at double speed through a
paper speaker.
“Where is
it coming from?” Elaine as a young girl, freckles instead of warts, wondered.
“You hear
it too?” I demanded, both irritated and relieved. I had thought that perhaps it was an aural
hallucination.
“I’ve had
them before,” I told the pharmacist (a pretty boy without any pretense of a
soul—not that I believe in “the soul,” but you know what I mean. I hope.)
“But that
was when you were going through the DTs,” he pointed out.
“Yeah,” I
admitted with a sigh.
The
temple-like structure was beyond our reach.
“I had
hoped to spare you this pain,” my father wrote.
Yet one of my great talents was the ability to endure great
suffering.
My wife objected.
“What a
crock of shit,” she snapped. Like a
crocodile she snapped. “You’ve got no patience. The ‘pain’ of boredom is intolerable to you.”
.
