Up the stairs, down the hall, through the door, into the waiting room, signing in; then the changing room where I am asked to strip and exchange my plainclothes for a white robe. Then, I am led back to the waiting room. With a casual hand gesture, a seat is assigned to me by the secretary. I wait.
The magazines are crummy. The music is pleasant. A voice occasionally speaks over the childlike tune. I can’t connect her words within the context (something about the end). Her voice and words are soothing nonetheless, attenuating the calm of the musical surface. I drift…I picture a root beer float. I sink, slow and indifferent, into the foam of the float.
Then I am blindfolded and led through another door. I don’t remember what happens after that.
• Samsaeri: http://www.samsaeri.com
• The Sublunar Society: http://www.sublunarsociety.com
