[ Pop happens to be one of the few things currently stocked in the fridge; it's a key part of the routine highly unbalanced outside-the-restaurant meal. Carmen grabs a can for Richie, and a carton of cigarettes off the counter.
Maybe this is actually the most normal thing in the world, the way Richie makes it look, like he's done this a million times (probably has), immersed in assembling pieces that, realistically, Carmen would never have bothered with on his own. What's weird -- a compressed feeling like something left behind, made so unreal with time and deliberate distance that it had become just a recurring motif in a dream, totally abstract but somehow still heavy. Still there.
What's weird is how this makes him think about Richie's sci-fi movies. Blade Runner, Solaris, so many others. He thinks about the suspension of disbelief, the other worlds, other lives. He thinks about Richie's commentary, hilarious and insightful by turns, and about feeling grateful for the company. He thinks about the flicker of the TV in the dark in that other living room, the snow outside the windows, the close warmth inside. He remembers a movie playing, but not paying attention to the screen.
Carmen rubs at his face, fishes a little overzealously in the carton for a cigarette. Stupid. ]
Heads up. [ He tosses the can of pop over to Richie: normal. ]
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Maybe this is actually the most normal thing in the world, the way Richie makes it look, like he's done this a million times (probably has), immersed in assembling pieces that, realistically, Carmen would never have bothered with on his own. What's weird -- a compressed feeling like something left behind, made so unreal with time and deliberate distance that it had become just a recurring motif in a dream, totally abstract but somehow still heavy. Still there.
What's weird is how this makes him think about Richie's sci-fi movies. Blade Runner, Solaris, so many others. He thinks about the suspension of disbelief, the other worlds, other lives. He thinks about Richie's commentary, hilarious and insightful by turns, and about feeling grateful for the company. He thinks about the flicker of the TV in the dark in that other living room, the snow outside the windows, the close warmth inside. He remembers a movie playing, but not paying attention to the screen.
Carmen rubs at his face, fishes a little overzealously in the carton for a cigarette. Stupid. ]
Heads up. [ He tosses the can of pop over to Richie: normal. ]