last night in my dream, i (being a man in middle of my life) looked contemplatively into the salt-encrusted frying pan which was baking in our fire. i had made a desicion, but broaching it with my partner was going to be delicate. i got up to fill the pan with sea water so i might attempt to clean off the scales which were baked into the cast iron. as i sat down again on the sand, i looked at my emaciated companion, regarding his skeletal appearance, recalling how robust he had been just a few months before.
“tom,” i said, looking into his hollow eye sockets, “i think it’s time we made my film.”
tom’s head slowly rose, the set of his jaw defiant as he formulated his response.
before he could reply, i interjected, “you know it’s time. look around. we’ve done all we can here.”
tom’s ribcage expanded grotesquely as he took a deep breath and straightened up. at that moment, i couldn’t see anything of the man i’d known for two decades. i could see nothing but bone and muscle and tendon. an animated corpse. i didn’t know him any longer. i didn’t know what his answer would be.
at the very moment i thought tom would break from the strain of it, he slumped back into his weak and defeated pose. “okay, roger,” he said quietly, “but only if i get a volleyball.”
HEY!
what!?!
nothing… just saying HEY!
oh. okay. hey!
you didn’t say hey to me, and I’m your garbage man!
what’s the movie about, daisy?
it’s about this guy whose plane crashes and he spends a bunch of time on this deserted island talking to a volleyball until he builds a raft and sails all the way back home to his beautiful blonde wife who always knew he was still alive.
that’s insanely funny.
thanks, nic.