He lit a cig and stated, â€œIn life, most events are fortuitous.â€
And then asked if I found his logic debatable, or possibly even unbelievable.
Actually I kind of did. He compared it to the dropping of an â€œAcme Piano.â€
â€œYeah,â€ I replied. â€œI know the drill,
It gets me and old Wild E. every time. Even our best of plans go up in smoke.â€
He chuckled. â€œBetween you and that immortal desert dog, there seems to be little contrast.â€
He took another drag, â€œBut even a set of identical twins will eventually show undeniable contrast.â€
This sparked my interest. â€œFor instance, a small scar brought on by things deemed fortuitous
Will forever make the claimâ€”I canâ€™t tell one from the otherâ€”slightly unbelievable.â€
Cigarette fumes lingering, he continued, â€œOne sibling might become a craftsman of the Piano,
The other a prodigy with a power-drill.
You never know? In short, interchangeable carbon copies are an illusion of smoke.â€
I looked for a hole in his logic, but all I kept settling on was this image of smoke.
Even the wisps off his cigarette contorted the shadows of his face, and created contrast.
His eyes told me he had planned this; my heart told me it had been fortuitous.
In a matter of puffs, he had shattered my definition of what is or isnâ€™t unbelievable.
Unlike the roadrunner always a step ahead of the piano,
I guess, I did not know the damn DRILL!
I might have been wrong but I could feel him reading my thoughts. His eyes boring into mine like a drill
Enlarging a hole. He looked down on my soul and sniffed. â€œIt smells like smoke.â€
This caught me off guard. In the awkwardness, I yelled, â€œTell me about the contrast!â€
He didnâ€™t seem to notice my attempt at something fortuitous.
Instead, he shrugged, and did something I can only explain as unbelievable.
With a look of anger, then curiosity, he asked, â€œDo you play the piano?â€
I told him, â€œIâ€™ve played many things in life, but noâ€¦Never a piano.
Though, once I recorded myself playing the star spangled banner on a power drill.â€
He looked confused. I laughed, â€œIt sounded amazing, but again, it was probably the cannabis smokeâ€¦â€
He snuffed his cig and continued, â€œIn hindsight, almost all memories are seen in some form of contrast.â€
I nodded. â€œAnd, when we realize it each one in its own way may seem fortuitous.
You, me, this conversation, practically everything to some degree is unbelievable.â€
He was right. Even as I look back now, that strange conversation seems unbelievable.
I had witnessed a man, forever, one step ahead of a falling piano.
With eyes like a drill,
He forced me to choke on internal smoke,
With nothing but: conversation, contrast
And things deemed fortuitous.
Unbelievably, since that day, the smoke still lingers.
And, in contrast, I no longer believe I know the damn drill.
Instead I remain vigilant, always looking up expecting some fortuitous piano to fall from the sky.