They were out, Annie and Dan, drunk, partying, Annie was
showing Dan her side of London, all intellectual and Philosophical, it was all
driving through Oxford & Cambridge, and the pubs around.
They still had time for the show on Prometheus that Annie
had invited Dan for.
Prof. Bernstein had given a Jaguar with a driver, Annie was
thinking about the way Dan had walked out of the Heathrow, Bermuda shorts,
printed shirt, straw hat, a Greek
leather sandal. A guitar in hand and
searching for chords, for a song she had no idea about. It took a while for
Annie to get hold of Dan. To get his attention.
By then Annie already had a few thousand passes on her from
the London crowd.
Her sleek frame, her general joie de vivre, her intellect,
her very spirit caught people’s attention she was a person that people wanted
to touch, dance, talk, rape.
Whatever.
Loose, drunk, floating .
She was.
Her friends spoke Ibsen, like others spoke Queen, they spoke
about Kant, Russell, Husserl and Schopenhauer, like others discuss Pink Floyd.
Dan was a Musician inside. A Nomad, a dilettante, a
nowhereman.
In search of a chord.
Who, currently, found meaning in deciphering the life of the
utterlessly powerless vis a vis usurped Democracies. Individuals who had more
rights. More needs and wants. Politically.
The politics of anthropology.
The racial and the insane.
Still being the most powerful.
The beast.
Within and outside.
Again a primordial type.
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