"She's groovy." Dale adjusted his navy blue robe. The hour was unimportant. It was always right now with him, a universe without borders, an egg without a yolk. "She's groovy like an old statue in the rain. She's got a gothic texture and I am pretty sure she could be my life partner but not for just one lifetime. I'm talking about eternity."
"Why you say that? You have never even spoken with her?" It was Dale's shampoo bottle talking. "She is red hot I agree but don't you worry about getting burned? Also, I don't know what you mean about the 'gothic texture'."
"It's a subjective thing. Have you been to Europe? You need to see Europe in the rain on a gray day to know what I mean. There's a heat there that is obscured by the architecture and statuary."
"Oh, 'European Heat', I think I've seen that one".
"You haven't seen anything. You are just a little dollop dispenser and you are getting in the way of my flow." Silence. "I'm sorry. I love the way you leave my hair so light and clean. But when it comes to love, y'know, let my river flow. Please, be nice please."
Dale then ended this conversation with his shampoo bottle, turned off the bathroom light and walked into the living room of his spacious condo. He stood, robed, before the floor to ceiling windows and took in the city view. Sort of a pretty city, but too young, like a green shoot, none of the old world gravitas that got under his skin. Tampa is what Tampa is: sunny skies and scorched sand. What Dale needed right now was a hard drizzle and a gargoyle made of cement screaming silently into a dark night. Where could he get that kind of thing without hopping on a plane? Maybe a book...
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