That feline quality had a lot to do with my continuing fascination with women. I would have liked to see Lorraine fastidiously arranging herself on my face. And the funny thing was, I knew she knew what I was thinking and I knew she would like to do that too. It was the natural, unspoken communication between mutually attracted man and woman. You were 99% sure.“So how’s life in The Pines?” I asked.“I saw you this morning,” she said. “I was walking along Emerald Drive and it overlooks some houses. You were hanging some clothes out on a little balcony.”“Yes,” I said, surprised, and happy that I had been spied putting my underpants on the improvised line.”Wow. You walk up there much?”“Most days. Eight o’clock I’m taking my constitutional.”“You should come in for a cup of tea some time,” I said, now aiming for a guileless effect.“I might just do that,” she said, glancing at me quickly, then back to her approaching husband.Norman joined us and we picked up our conversation from the day. Gregg shook his head; uncertain as to whether or not this meant that the spaghetti was good to eat and equally unsure if it meant that the effects of the spliff had not, in fact, quite worn off yet. His attempt to push the thoughts of the obsessively neat pasta from his mind were interrupted by a curious sensation from his feet.He looked down. His shoelaces were unravelling themselves from his shoe in the same way that the spaghetti had uncoiled itself. Now two lengths of pale cord had laid themselves out in straight lines beside his feet.Disbelieving, he shook his head, trying to clear his mind of whatever residual hallucinogen remained. As he did so the end of one of the laces picked itself up from the floor, pointed its end at Gregg for a moment before slowly threading itself back into his shoes. With a similar show of reluctance the other lace followed.It was impossible Gregg, thought to himself. Of course it was; but so was the obsessively neatly coiled spaghetti. And that was.
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