I’ll pay cash

I noticed it gradually; as if it was an incipient disease creeping up on my system and changing me, only this time it was for the better, or at least for the different. The place I noticed it, was at the copiers. I hit the screen to get it to print out a pdf of our business cards, but no matter how I pressed the screen, there was no connect. The associate hit the screen for me and the job was completed, “Having trouble with that screen?” she said graciously. I left feeling uneasy. Was my electrical acting weird again? There had been periods in the past when my bioelectrical field got so intense that things like high priced video editing consoles would stop working in the edit bays, light bulbs would pop. Street lights would go out when I walked under them. But this seemed different. I knew there was a dimensional shift occuring when I pressed the screen to pay for my food at the organic grocery store. No connection. I pushed harder on the little screen on the computer terminal as the check out guy bagged my asparagus. Suddenly my finger slid into the screen. About down to the first joint. It felt squishy and warm. I pulled my finger out and looked around. Nobody in line had noticed. Good. I spoke as calmly as I could, but I could hear the restrained freaked out intensity in my words. “I’ll pay cash.” I grabbed my ten cent paper bag and tried to casually stroll away from the check out stand, then glance back and watch the next person; a young blonde surfer girl/yoga instructor. She had no problem. Her slim pink index finger registered her purchase of Leaping Stag Merlot. I tried not to stare. She looked at me oddly, as if I were seeing something intimate. I turned and walked away, feeling my finger. It was tingling, not from excitement. It felt like I had put it in a jar of fresh peppermint leaves. “You’re the drum teacher up on Montana Avenue, aren’t you?” The blond surfer girl/yoga instructor walked up on my deaf side. It surprised me and I had to ask her to repeat what she had said. Most people don’t bother and just walk away, but she did repeat it distinctly and I had to answer yes. “I want to come up there and learn how to do it.” She said sincerely. “You already know how.” I said evasively. She was being coy. “What was the deal with your finger, back there at the checkout stand?” She said with a curious leer on her suddenly very sophisticated face. “I don’t know. Some sort of dimensional shift. Maybe…stuff happens..The drumming increases vibration rates. It might be that….I don’t know.”

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