bjork and i were roommates in chicago, and she was shorter than she really even is, and blonde(r). she spent so much time in the bathroom, lying on a wooden dolly on the tile floor. she was enveloped in some existential time-travel project. there must have been a portal in the toilet or something.
she spent increasingly more time in the bathroom, and often went into trances for days, rendering her unable to speak-- or relieve herself like an adult should. there were puddles of urine by the time i finally broke into the powder room and picked her up from the dolly and force fed her.
later that night i coaxed her out of the apartment, and that's where you come in.
we went to a bar, all the way she'd been relating to me her experience while in a trance-state and she was convinced she'd been to another galaxy.
we sit down at a table near the stage and there is a band beginning a set. there you are, playing keyboards like you were in the fucking Doors or something. i recognize you and am immediately embarrassed.
i also recognize the drummer, who was a good friend of yours and mine. he is your sidekick from times past. he jumps down from the stage and gives me a hug.
"He is too embarrassed to hug you," the mutual friend says. "I know," I say, "me too."
But you climb down from the stage as well and hug Bjork instead. She is out of it. "I can't believe you live with Bjork," you say. "Me either," I say.
You spend the rest of the night talking at Bjork while I chuckle since she is not hearing a word you say. She is on another planet. She is thinking about time travel. So am i.
