On infinity and the end of time
So, I have this dream … or fantasy.
It goes something like this:
He walks into a house party, maybe in Lyon or Casablanca or Asunción. It’s one of those old French-style apartments, with high ceilings and tall doorways opening onto large balconies.
There’s a unique crowd of people, a diverse mix. People are smoking cigarettes. People are smoking hash and marijuana. The furniture is old and the music is oh-so eclectic and chill.
There is wine, lots of wine.
He doesn’t know many people. He’s new here, maybe. Or at least, he’s new to this scene.
There’s a girl on the couch talking with a friend and there’s a guy by the kitchen, sipping his glass of wine and laughing at a joke. He notices both of them, they notice him.
Those awkward glances follow, the subtle checking someone out from a distance. And then suddenly, they are all introduced at the same time. His friend knows him and her friends knows his friend.
They are in the center of the room and the music becomes a thumping background hum to infinity. They smile. They blush. They sip their drinks.
And it’s the beginning of the end of time. Time stops forever.