juho

(sounds: staralfur, by sigur ros- the life aquatic with steve zissou)
He told her that night that he had some hard thinking to do; he hoped she would understand and he was sorry. He could tell by the way she hung up the phone that she didn't understand and that meant he had more explaining to do, but there wasn't really anything he could do. What did she expect him to do?

He walked south until he got away from the clustered old houses and hit the moving lights. He did his real thinking there, where there was no quiet threatening him and no aloneness dragging him down.

He had some hard thinking to do, but once he hit the colored lights, where he knew he could always do his best thinking, Juho found he had nothing to think about. He felt like he was piloting some tiny submarine through ultramarine depths, lulled to sleep by the rock of the tides and the beautiful menacing tendrils of the ocean creatures. The people moved past like deep-sea fish, lost in the oceanic dark, like squid, graceful propellers. She was an eel or an anglerfish, and she didn't understand. Juho moved farther and farther south, through dark dilapidated caves of neighborhoods, through winding schools of foreign fish, through music and sound and rain and people shimmering through the world like fish and when at last he settled on the blackest ocean floor, feeling the glorious crushing weight of the whole Pacific on his chest, she was the jaguar shark he had been looking for for so long, and she was beautiful. He opened his eyes and he didn't know where he was. The city was gone, tapered down into a straight wet highway. There were trees, moving in the night air like kelp and the rush of water was wind in the air.
"I wonder if she remembers me," he said.