I was excited to get to go see The Exhibit.
I already knew the punch line: We’d realize we were already dead and in Hell.
I have no pants on.
I kept getting kicked to the back of the line, only to be met with escalating and conflicting demands for methods of proving that I’d paid my admission price.
The first exhibit was the kitchen:
A dazed and distressed young woman who looked like a startled zombie paced back and forth mindlessly from the coffee maker to the fridge to rummage for something to eat.
Back to the coffee maker: Have to go to work.
Back to the fridge: Rummage, rummage, rummage.
Back to the coffee maker: Have to go to work.
Back to the fridge: Rummage, rummage, rummage.
Back to the coffee maker: Have to go to work.
Back to the fridge: Rummage, rummage, rummage.
Back to the coffee maker: Have to go to work.
Back to the fridge: Rummage, rummage, rummage.
And so on.
A pile of chocolate chip cookies, soft batch, sweet and rotten, stacked high to the ceiling on the counter with flies buzzing everywhere around it.
Feed your addiction.
Eat the sugar.
Make that coffee.
Punch that clock.
Bring your ass back to the refrigerator and rummage and rummage and rummage all you want, you will never find anything in there that feeds the hunger inside of you.
A member of the audience giggles and claps her hands, bravo!
She says, “They might be in hell, but they’ve made it beautiful if they are.”
I mimicked the zombie faces of the woman trapped in the kitchen.
Go to work.
Caffienate up.
Feed my addictions.
This pissed of one of the people running the exhibit and they came to bounce me out.
I said “oh please! I’m fascinated and I haven’t even seen half of it!”
They grinned.
I asked “where’s my backpack?”
I was no longer carrying my load.
None of it mattered.
None of it mattered.
None of it mattered.
None of it mattered.
None of it mattered.
None of it mattered.
None of it mattered.
Allelula. Allelula. Allelula.
None of it mattered now.
