#баловство #trappedintheamberofthismoment
Unsurprisingly, the movies weren’t very true to how things really work. As I flip my coin, it doesn’t make that silvery twang it was supposed to make, not to mention that it spins in almost utter silence. If you strain your ears really hard, you can hear a faint rustling as the dark metal ball pushes the air away in steady waves rippling outward. One needs to lose depth perception to make out the dirty disk of brass alloy that is currently the only support for all the weight of a binary decision. I close my eyes and count to three before opening them again. The world has changed ever so slightly: some people on the street have materialized closer to me, some further; a stray pigeon has stopped flapping its wings and now sits silently on an energy line, a modern gargoyle of the post-industrial age. I close my eyes again and feel the tiny weight of the coin back in my palm. Should I stay or should I go? They really need to make better-sounding coins. The noise of the busy street comes rushing in now: an ambulance siren, a cigarette being lit, someone’s phone ringing with an all-too-familiar melody. They should also outlaw choices while they’re at it. I close my palm and open my eyes. The air is still reeling from the coin’s spin, but everything else has stopped. The world has turned into an unmoving black-and-grey photograph. I open my palm, and March snow starts falling on both our heads.
Unsurprisingly, the movies weren’t very true to how things really work. As I flip my coin, it doesn’t make that silvery twang it was supposed to make, not to mention that it spins in almost utter silence. If you strain your ears really hard, you can hear a faint rustling as the dark metal ball pushes the air away in steady waves rippling outward. One needs to lose depth perception to make out the dirty disk of brass alloy that is currently the only support for all the weight of a binary decision. I close my eyes and count to three before opening them again. The world has changed ever so slightly: some people on the street have materialized closer to me, some further; a stray pigeon has stopped flapping its wings and now sits silently on an energy line, a modern gargoyle of the post-industrial age. I close my eyes again and feel the tiny weight of the coin back in my palm. Should I stay or should I go? They really need to make better-sounding coins. The noise of the busy street comes rushing in now: an ambulance siren, a cigarette being lit, someone’s phone ringing with an all-too-familiar melody. They should also outlaw choices while they’re at it. I close my palm and open my eyes. The air is still reeling from the coin’s spin, but everything else has stopped. The world has turned into an unmoving black-and-grey photograph. I open my palm, and March snow starts falling on both our heads.
0
У записи 8 лайков,
0 репостов,
1013 просмотров.
0 репостов,
1013 просмотров.
Эту запись оставил(а) на своей стене Егор Юрескул
