LX. Horizon

The little Martian sits now, a little lost.

We both need another cup of burnt coffee just to feel real in this dead, odd place. It thrums, but with an energy, he cannot catch, channel or understand.

“americanos, angst, existential dread”, it's all getting so repetitive” he moans, one hand fanned dramatically against his ivy jowls

“I feel kind of icked out today,”

“We can't both be icky.”

“Why not?”

“it upsets the balance. “

“Well, things don’t always make sense”

The martian shrugs, there is a beat of empty silence.

I take a sip of my badly made coffee and wince as it burns my tongue.

“all the adulation feels paper thin,” he tells me

“and all the nicks cut flesh deep” I respond

“We could write a song, you and I “

“ a depressing one”

He chuckles halfheartedly, I shrug, and smile, lopsided and sardonic . We’re like a couple of characters from a dry American sitcom, produced for the boys, by the boys.

“what next? “ The Little Martian asks me

“Now.. we wait” I reassure him, and I mean it.

“We wait? “

“Something awesome is on its way. We have to wait a little longer”

The Little Martian takes me very seriously, and I, him

Together, we make a very self-important pair.

He taps his foot against the plastic table, drums his fingers, and looks out intently at the horizon

"What are you doing? "

"I'm actively waiting. "