Things are falling apart all around me, Redding thought. Why did I let
myself get pulled into this? He walked to the window and looked out. Two young
men in long dark coats, black hair, faces streaked in black, walked by, looked
into the window, waved with an abbreviated gesture, and continued on. Omens of
evil, Redding thought. What else. He began to pace.
Stephens suggested they bring Hancock to his apartment for his
medications. Rice said she’d stay with Redding, obviously distressed with his
choices.
All these imaginations seeing it differently, she mused. We coalesce
into a temporary consensus. Believe we proceed from there as if it were a
potentially fixed proposition. Often without examining the fiber of the
consensus. I don’t think Todd has it in him to see the transformation of his
newspaper through. He’s going to bail out. Down from the Hill will be aborted.
Then what for Gil, for Alicia. I’m only tangentially involved. My career is on
track, and at my age, that’s a wonder. I’m still someone the university wants
to keep around. Now, enterprises are playing with the notion of “strategic
dynamism.” Long-term goals disappear as quick fixes take over. I could live 30
more years, it’s part of my heritage, the genetic mystery that codes the
timing. Like Gil, his take a little different, I think the imagination rules.
In ways people don’t fathom. I’m really glad I don’t have children. I’d be so
fearful of what they’d face on this planet; what my imagination conjures will
lie ahead.
She thought of the Moody Blues line from “Nights in White Satin”: “We
decide which is right and which is an illusion.” Maybe in some cases. If we can
figure out where we’re coming from.
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