Something I dreamt

Every so often, when I'm lucky, I teeter on the edge between being asleep and being awake. For some bizarre reason, this is potentially when I am at my most creative, many of my ideas being generated in this state. This morning it happened, and when I woke I had a pretty much fully written .... paragraph maybe. Dunno if it's meant to go on or be a short story, but it was there in my mind. I forgot about it when I eventually got up, but remembered it moments ago and here I report it verbatim:

Two men are walking down the street deep in conversation. One man turns to the other and simply states, "fuck." No pretext or context, a statement uttered just to meet their quota,. To make the average. Now they can claim that their conversation had some semblance of modernity. That they were relevant and weren't antiquated fogeys. That they were still cool, a word here that conferred something he could never be.

No matter how much he lied, no matter how much he imitated, no matter how much he ever used the word cool (for kids who are with it never use it), it was not a word for him. Not a word that he could twist into his whore, his mistress, his wife, his lover, like any other world in his language. Not something he could be so deeply embroiled with that it would be incestuous, a word and a concept he would forever be estranged with.

Despite knowing this he still dilligently met his quota with every conversation. With a "fuck" to his friend, who replied with a sombre and knowing nod, the two went on their way.