Bored at home

I sat on the park bench, mesmerized by the spectacular exhibitions of red, green, and blue leaves swirling around the trees in front of me. A guy playing the red and blue guitar suddenly dropped the instrument on the ground as if he had cut his finger. The instrument hurt him and stopped the flow of some of the most beautiful music I’ve ever heard, intoxicated or sober.  He played that harmonious tune which ebbed and flowed and synchronized with my soul.  The push pull of the music invigorated me. In over two years I hadn’t felt like this, but now I felt every cell, every atom of my body guided by music back into this thing some like to call reality and some like to call hell.  But the music stopped. Nevertheless, the beat kept thumping in my head.  Above me, white, fluffy clouds of various shapes and colors, each one taking the form of some earthly object raced one another towards some destination which I will never know of.  I’ll never know who won that race.  To tell you the truth, as I sat there, on the bench, looking at the trees obstructed by red, blue and green leaves, with the obsolete music still blasting in my head, the imprint of that music still bumping away with added base that exists only in my brain, sitting there, looking up at a race between bodies of evaporated water shooting through a blue sea, wondering whose going to win, I realized something—I had no idea whether I was intoxicated or sober.