THE CENTRE OF THE UNIVERSE

In “The Cellar”, an underground cinema on Duke Street, near the centre of the universe.

Background Radiation. Radio Dust. Pinpoints of Past Fire. Dust, riding the dial, slowly accelerates toward him through the static. The dust sails on waves of flame. (Images of salvoes of blazing Greek lances launched from philosophical times. Their Blades Cleave the Future).

Over his head it all goes, or nearly all of it, for some leaves its mark. His left eye, he blinks. Something causes it to sting slightly.

“Right! You think you’re the centre of the universe, do you not?” Crackled, cackled the hordes, by the static concealed.

“Wrong!” Was his instant riposte, “The centre of the universe is due south east of here, five foot seven and five eighths of an inch in that direction. Me? I’m in orbit.”