The Martini Effect – Chapter 19 (Portrait of a Martini as a Young Nightcap)

(19)

(We rejoin our Dharma Drunk heroes somewhere in Manhattan as they continue carousing through their intemperate wormhole.)

Follow us.
But don’t trust us.
Bat of a lash.
Microsecond.
Time curves.
Space changes.
Day becomes night.
Summer becomes winter.
Tracks becomes Slatterys Irish Pub.
My Gibson becomes a shaken vodka martini with a lemon twist.
Marylou sips a daiquiri on ice as she sits next to me and peers down the bar.
Follow us.
Just don’t trust us.

“I can’t feel the roof of my mouth,” Marylou says.

“I can’t get a grip on my fingernails,” I say.

“What sound will the universe make when it ends?” Marylou asks.

“Brian Eno,” I say.

“Taxydermy Brian Eno?” Marylou asks.

“Of course,” I reply.

“Not Ambient 1 Brian Eno?” Marylou asks with a sad expression.

“Afraid not,” I say.

Anyone eavesdropping on us will be bewildered.
We’re bewildered.
Staggering like a a pair of broken soldiers through this thing called New York.
Trying to blink through our blur and finish this crossword puzzle called America.

“I can’t feel the tips of my fingers,” Marylou says.

“I’ve lost the cut of my jib,” I say.

“Just as well,” Marylou says. “I never liked it,” she laughs.

“The cut of my jib?” I ask.

“Never liked it,” she says again. And she laughs again.

Follow us.
Just don’t trust us.
Our sanity is dissolving into the night like an Alka-Seltzer tablet.
The UNC mascot at the end of the room watches us like a spiteful uncle.

“Where to now?” Marylou asks.

“The end of the universe,” I say and take a sip of my drink.

“Where Taxydermy Brian Eno plays,” Marylou says.

And she’s right.
Follow us.
But don’t trust us.
We’re heading to the end of the universe.
As soon as we figure out the trains.

(To be continued…)