WEDNESDAY, JULY 3rd, 2013
I have a new game for Mitch.
Some weeks back I mentioned the likelihood of working together instead of being constantly at odds. How perhaps we can use our differences and the competitive nature of our relationship to our advantage, noting that he may be the only one I know for sure that is not in on this horribly acted play. Either that or he's one hell of a performer.
Not even I fully understood what was meant when I initially wrote about our potential symbiosis. That is, not until now. The picture is becoming crystal clear to me, exactly how a dream fades away but in reverse.
I will refrain from getting into too many details about this new challenge I intend to propose, other than it is a hybrid of a game we are all too familiar with. This particular game requires the two of us to work together and cooperate as fully and as completely as possible...yet the ultimate goal, as in any other competitive game, is to win. To soundly defeat the opponent.
Tis an interesting concept, to work for and against the same person in pursuit of common victory. Two entities competing for the same space, something has to give. Remove one element and the whole thing falls apart. We need each others trust in this pursuit and our success depends on it. However, one of us, ultimately, will fail.
As I have a word with my friendenemy, I notice a scar on his right hand about an inch or so in length, residing in that fleshy region connecting the thumb and forefinger, healed long ago, representing a single moment of trauma preserved for all time. The fact that he has a scar about an inch or so in length on his right hand is not all that remarkable. What fascinates me is that I have the identical scar on my right hand. I let this interesting coincidence slide for the time being, we have much to discuss.
Mitch receives my challenge with reluctance, as I might expect. He will come around, I'm sure of it. He really has no choice in the matter and will see the game's inevitability in due time.
After all, this is not some silly parlor game like Box Head Run or something of that nature. It may be our only means of escape.
Today's Jazz Hands were confluent. Day one-hundred and eighty-four complete.
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