“You. Sit here. I overheard your conversation and I want you where you won’t be taken advantage of.”
I complied with the order, but rebelled in my own way by moving the indicated chair a little away from the action before seating. I wanted to quip if he was worried about me being taken advantage of by the embodied or the disembodied, but I realized that distinction was about to be forcibly nullified for the night, so I remained silent.
I noted that I was perhaps a little too obedient in sitting down as it was only after the proceedings began that I realized my acquaintance and escort was not allowed on the floor with me. But then again, said acquaintance had openly mocked my fears of attending the proceedings in ways that, in retrospect, were creepy as fuck.
I looked out over the crowd for him and was thankful that only the singing was worming its way into my head. My view swept over the crowd, over the boundary, over the drummers in the corner, over the two men leading the proceedings (one already ridden), over me sitting at the table with a small shallow bowl and four large flat seeds, over the other person sitting across from me watching the seeds fall into the bowl… wait.
I’m watching myself.
My head lifts to look at my disembodied position. An eye winks. The head turns its attention back to the bowl.
I blink and I’m sitting in the chair by myself, half bored out of my mind, half being bored out of my mind.
I blink.
I’m awake.
Fuck me, I need some coffee.