Recycling

I spin from the window to the cackling women, everyone is smoking. What an odd heave, white doors are all locked. But:

"We are all dead. !!"

One old Viking King, long red and gold beard, fast cigarettes, collection of lighters, tobacco case, filters, all lined together, at the window. A smile for me. A bulk that confines himself in the space. Not wise though, only if wise knows what is so appealing about him to me. The situation, brothers leading a movement, the knowing we share of these latched doors, those with the yes, unaware of making their own mistakes. I can free through in many ways. I'm stitched and wearing something fresh, a blood red velvet suit, a dark brown cord jacket, black cravat. I spend a lot of time, while he spends all time, at the window. He doesn't speak, he winks, and he sees.He looks like he has been stationed at the window by someone unknown. I don't think he ever even smokes. I know he hears me. But he won't talk. I meet him for a whole day."We have died, and this is All Heaven. Save US!"    I said to the King;