7 - Sewing

He’s not good at sewing either. I think it’s because he hasn’t been running needles into his finger tips for years. That’s not it though, it’s not an experience thing. I think he is just scared to, and maybe because of the pain, but maybe not so much that as he is scared to fuck it up, to do it wrong. He made this slice of heaven for us, the shelter, it’s a home. This will probably be used by others when we are gone, dead or departed, whatever. This could be the early ruins of some future city, maybe tons of them. I imagine our ghosts here, eating cakes around a fire, buried under millennia of dirt with a couple of space archaeologists (us too, thats what I imagine at least, the two of us are the archaeologists that find us) dangling here at the bottom of a deep excavated hole under cities upon cities of people and their broken, gone and frustrated shit and trash and ruin, holding up our pan and our spatula that just will not wear out, nodding in silence to each other, seeing us by our footprints, our assprints, where we sat, that we had a cool place, that this place was the start of it, of all of it. He can do that, he has that effect. Sometimes I think he is like a piece of god come down, perfect, important, hidden from himself. Won’t sew cuz he thinks he’s a fuck-up but the world will follow him, forever, willingly or like an accident only there are no accidents with him, not like that.

He’s watching me. He has this thing where he thinks I am depressed. That’s not it really, I know what it is. He thinks I am thinking about leaving, or that I want to, that I want to leave. The Royal leaving though, the big dead. He thinks I am going to kill myself.

“Can you sew leather?”

I tell him I can, that its hard to do, that it’s a real bitch because of how thick the leather is, that its hard to get a needle in there. The needle you need to use needs to be thick enough not to break, it has to be. That kind of needle does not easily push through leather. I tell him you can cheat a leather sew but you can’t do a real one without a machine and we don’t have machines anymore. I don’t say that last part out loud, we know it, we both do.