You sit in a blacked out room. It’s as if being in a casino if not for the absent sound of trickling coins in free fall of a slot machine. You still wait for the jackpot. Don’t they all?….chasing the dragon…it’s all a mere rush of endorphins…..endogenous morphine…whether stemming from the actual substance or down to another level of Candy Crush (it holds over 2000 levels, enough to keep your addiction going). Your pick. You would frankly choose the former, only for it’s utter euphoria it created in moments of great anguish.
But her you are, euphoria or not, waiting for the chip to fall, the dice to land. You lift your gaze above the rim of the laptop.
“Shall I put on some music?”
“Sure” you college casually responds. He has after all better things to do than deciding on a tracklist.
“It’s strange, you couldn’t see it my way, hey now go
I pray FOR YOU TO FALL”
You sing along softly, unfortunately the flu no longer there, your whiskey voice but a memory…
He reacts. Oh he is a mere mortal after all, you denote.
“You know you are so born in the wrong century.”
An astute observation. Finally you have his attention.