say something profound, she’s watching me. the words aren’t said but they hang in the air anyway, waiting for the camera to be flipped on. waiting for me to perform, so i can be recorded for posterity.
she’s looking at her smartphone, tapping into it with the speed of someone who’s had a few too many coffees and a few too many final reminders that this is live, streaming through the wires and connections of the internet, a dozen share buttons ready to send the link around the world before i’ve even had my breakfast.
she’s projecting a timer running down from eight minutes. eight more minutes for me to produce something intelligent, something that will outlive time. the seconds flip by, a contradictory fast-and-slow study. under the makeup my face is dry, itchy; the skirt suit no longer feels like a good choice.
ten, nine, eight… time to speak.