Then we discover a strange new resort spot. From a distance, it resembles a large microwave, but as we approach, it takes on many forms: a toaster, a television, a spoon and then what vaguely looks like a drawing of a horse's mouth. Though we cannot quite describe what is happening, we express faith that we are witnessing the same thing and walk inside.
The interior has more of a corporate medical office aesthetic than anything else. We have nowhere better to be, so we grab a brochure from a neatly stacked pile and decide to stay for a few days.
It is a wonderful place. It seems to exist neither among the dead nor the living, but somehow in the space between. We lie in tanning beds and perform X-rays on each other late at night. A mobile of fax machines and coupons swirl above our heads. For meals, we suck on safety pins and color-coded folders. We staple our tax returns above pictures of our daughters.
We deliver ourselves daily to the CEO and dial every number until we become extensions of ourselves. There is a visible buzz in the air, a static pounding of flourescent rhythm. Our hearts break out of our chests and smack against the lights and seem to us like bloody moths attracted by an electronic fire. We laugh it off, slapping each other high-five, giving thumbs up, winking excessively. Then, we watch as a procession of men in suits insert their heads into computers screens. We celebrate by gulping champagne and frantically waving sparklers. We have very large erections.
At the end of the vacation, we stand on a vast pixilated shore as if pioneers of a new world. We think about our lives and listen to the low hum of the wind until we delete ourselves by pressing each other’s buttons and giggling like schoolgirls. And although we had always been loyal customers of the Cingular network, when three wolves appear on the Verizon, we switch over.
