“Space. It’s an illusion.”
Silence hung in the air.
Yours standing proud with certainty.
Mine overrun with questions, stupidity quotas, and considerations of sleep walking.
“Seriously, Space. It’s an illusion.”
I really should take your mic, but my mind is still processing this reality.
You continue. “It’s just a government plot to get us to spend money on something that doesn’t really exist, in order to fuel the politicians lifestyles.”
Not sure if what I am feeling inside is an allergic reaction to jello brain theories , or bubbling laughter attempting to reach the surface.
My mental secretary has already created a list of things to never talk to you about …ever again.
“Silence, and idleness is not your friend,” I say.
With a Puffed chest, and Oscar Worthy confidence, you proceed, “For real. Look around. Space is an illusion. It’s all Obama’s fault….”
Somewhere after hearing it’s Obama’s fault, deafness kicked in.
When your lips stopped moving, all I could muster up was “If the moon is our version of the Bat Signal, who is supplying the power? And do you think they can slide me some product under the table so my phone battery never goes out again?”
After some time, your lips part….Here we go again……