I looked out the window today for the first time in a long time. Really looked. I shook my head & the lights, on the street that I’ve passed every day for years, blurred like they do in those beautiful places.
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What is our “42”?
What lies out there? But more importantly, what lies within us? When I had pondered the answer to life, the universe, and everything, it was Douglas Adams that told me to look no further. Simply put, the answer was “42”.
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A science fiction junkie, I first locked eyes with the Xenomorph, in all its cold, menacingly sleek black glory when I was just seven years old, gaping in horror as it burst out of Kane’s chest in the seminal James Cameron film Alien, embarrassingly glad to be on the other side of the screen.
Now I know that it was the screen, and only the screen, that separated us.
Because I’m also an alien.
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New York
New York.
Her mind like the streets of New York, constantly bustling, thoughts headed in all directions, some towards success, some towards inevitable doom, all walking, ever moving, ever living.
And then, quiet.
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