Roger: I’m Roger.
Sam: I’m Sam?
Next door to Roger and Sam it begins to rain. Next door is in the figurative sense. Over there, it rains. And as the rain begins to pool, their eyes begin to dry. It starts with Jackrabbit, and then goes on to Sam, and then to Roger, and so on in a circle. This is the way their eyes dry while it rains.
Sam holds Jackrabbit.
Roger plays Violin.
Incognito. That is what Violin says in the voice of music. It erases itself with itself. It makes itself a stranger.
Jackrabbit, like a system, quivers.
Roger downs Violin.
The rain is still falling over there.
Roger begins a walk to the rain. Roger follows impulse. Sam follows Roger. They walk in a line that they form. There are no other lines in this place.
Jackrabbit and Violin shrink into the before. Before is what distance swallows in the place with the rain.
Sam and Roger squeeze through invisible thick.
An immediate eternity from a certain angle passes.
Then they walk some more.
Roger (over his shoulder): Sam, I’m not sure it’s getting louder. Do you think the rain is getting louder, Sam?
Sam (to the back of Roger’s head): It may be louder than before, but before grows quieter as well. Oh dear, Roger.
Oh dear is a fretful tingle.
A tingle hatches hungry dread.
Roger drops to knees. Roger’s head goes smush with Roger’s hands. Bawling fingers stretch the ends of Roger’s arms.
Sam is still until.
Sam’s leg begins to move. Sam’s leg traces the shape of a circle on the ground. Sam’s circling begins small, biggens quicker smooth.
In little fits, the ground goes looser.
Sam swells the ground with circling.
Roger’s head is sucked with ground. Roger feels the pooling rain. Language falls down Roger’s head.
Sam’s circles are no longer Sam’s. Language climbs Sam’s leg. The circles will it so.
On them goes the language.
And spreads itself, alas.
Sam and Roger are together with the ground.
The rain stops.