Driving a long time through strange jungles, in a taxicab. The monkeys screamed and hooted at us from the side of the dirt road. The cabbie kept turning around to talk to me, but most of the time he spoke silently.
I knew I should listen to him.
I remember only that he said this:
"You'll have to pay me in grass. Look up, look out there." And I saw the men in turbans in the middle of a vast desert holding up books. There were cases of books coming out of the sand: novels. He said,
"What are you doing? Why are you always running away? Have you forgotten these?" And then he cackled and said, "Oh yes, you are in love, by the way."
I wanted to ask him what he meant, but I had the sinking feeling that I already knew--there are things that I have been avoiding. Now they are staring at me matter-of-factly. Undeniably conscious thoughts now. Fuck.