“Well, what is the point my man?!” ~Allison Solano

“Yesterday I smoked oregano, with no other place in the world to go, and I put on some glasses, their frames aglow, when with a girl I did collide. Her breasts were small and her hips were wide and her boots were wet and smelled of rawhide. She was tall, nearly double my size, and she stared at me with muted green eyes.”

“Well, what is the point my man?!”

“When wearing the glasses I saw everything. Past, present and future of her took wing. But my vision lingered upon the scenes when she was a child. Neither small nor wild. Only alone. Gangly, abrasive, beaten and thrown.”

“Well, what is the point my man?!”

“I could feel nothing for this child, nether wild nor small. Nothing. No, nothing. No, nothing at all.”

“Well, what is the point my man?!”

“I can understand the girl though these frames, even sense the roots of her hair. All of her, everything that exists, everything that persists, lies presented there.”

“Well, what is the point my man?!”

“Yes, yes the point shall be gotten. Your voice, though abrasive, remains unforgotten. Until I am moved by her and she by I, I sense this world entire may die. How can I change the world, at least twice, when only apathy and oregano remain my vice?”

“I’m afraid you know the answer my man.”