It is night time. To help her sleep, my sister has turned on the mega fan in the hallway. It is loud.
Have you ever watched any of the old Flash Gordons? The black and whites?
The fan sounds like one of those ships landing on the planet Mongo, glorious sparkler driven engines coming to an abrupt stop upon hitting the rocky surface. Except this sound does not stop.
All night it drones on, inveigling its way into my dreams like a Burroughs novel bleeds onto the page. My mind plays movies of dystopian machine ruled planet in which I struggle to survive in a world man made. Vivienne Westwood has provided my wardrobe. Trent Reznor the soundtrack. The director is obviously obsessed with Metropolis.
I could turn the damned thing off.
But then sis couldn't sleep.
Maybe I should just jump ship.