I point out an elk standing at the edge of the forest, but we’re traveling at over seventy, so you miss it, and then sulk until we see another. We pull into the next rest stop to check the map—it says, “Beyond here lurk only dragons”. We plan to forge ahead anyway, but are detained by The Police.
“You are accused of making and distributing subversive pornography,” Sting says. We have no idea what he’s talking about since A) we don’t have a camera, and B) we have not had sex since embracing the biological relationship of nothingness to death.
“Subversive pornography?” I say. “Sounds Interesting.” You say, “Can we see it?”
“If I show it to you,” he says, “I’d have to arrest myself and I can’t do the time.”
“What’s the penalty?” I ask.
“Take this red pill,” he says to me; to you he says “Take off that red dress. You don’t have to wear that dress tonight.” “I like this dress,” you say. “It’s my favorite. Besides, I’d rather do the drugs.”
We both take a red pill each and slip sideways from reality to find ourselves face deep in the impossible. The Police don’t follow us, but at some point we’ll have to go back for the car. Then again, maybe this is where the dragons lurk. Accepting no reason to hold back, the realization brings to a greater consciousness of the moons of Jupiter, spinning in their orbit.