Butterflies Dreaming

From Runtime Zero:

“Then one fateful summer eve, on their way home from Provincetown, he and Ave Maria dropped some Sunshine on the hallowed lawns of Harvard Yard (a touchstone in the culture of consciousness still under the luminous spell of Dr. Timothy Leary, who was by then a major constellation in the midnight sky), and time—time itself—began to melt like Dalí’s clock, morphing into something infinitely more erotic and exotic than the endless shuffling from one moment to another in the world they’d left behind. They were starborn, traveling light-years together beneath the trees, soaring from one breath to another, pressed hard against the soft green surface of the earth, butterflies dreaming.”

True Story

As I walked down Hamilton Street, the very same street the great man himself once trod, I began to hear muffled voices coming from my backpack. Pulling out my iPad, I discovered a live video feed on the screen, apparently another accidental FaceTime call from my brother in Japan, who appeared to be sitting in the front seat of a car, talking to the driver. Positioned directly behind them, I could see we were headed down a winding dirt road in the middle of a dense forest.
“Bob!” I said directly to my iPad as a young woman in a Tupac t-shirt passed by with a smirk on her otherwise pretty face.
“Mick!” he answered, with some surprise, turning around to get a better look at me. “How the hell are you?” I continued down the street, device in hand.
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