yes.
yes.
yes.
'. i know, it's none of my business.'
'. i want you to levitate. i want you to sing with rapture and dance like a dervish.'
yes.
'yes' is the answer to your question.
i believe you did.
i think you know --
try. because 'if you haven't tried, you haven't lived'.
what you were talking about.
are you giving me orders?
no, you're not. you're trying to 'handle' the situation but this is the one situation you knew you never could handle.
it's enough now.
there's going to be plenty of time for that.
i think you know --
yes.
what are you looking so provoked about? 'did you miss me?' it's a normal question. i missed you. but what do i get back? 'not an ounce of excitement, not a whisper of a thrill --'
i'm waiting outside. won't someone come to the door?
quiet down.
i'm here.
quiet.
the great bill parrish at a loss for words? the man from whose lips fall 'rapture' and 'passion' and 'obses- sion'. all those admonitions about being 'deliberately happy', what there is no sense 'living your life without', all the sparks and energy you give off, the rosy advice you dispense in round, pear-shaped tones --
just think of millenniums multiplied by aeons compounded by infinity, i've been around that long, but it's only recently that your affairs here have piqued my interest. call it boredom, the natural curiosity of me, the most lasting and significant element in existence has come to see you.
i want to have a look around before i take you.
it requires competence, wisdom, experience -- all those things they say about you in testimonials -- and you're the one.
show me around. be my guide. and in return, you get.
time.
watch it!
in return you'll receive minuets, days, weeks, i'm not going to go into details .  what matters is that i stay interested.
'yes' is the answer to your ques- tion.
bill. come on. the question. the question you've been asking yourself with increased regularity, at odd moments, panting through the extra game of handball, when you ran for the plane in delhi, when you sat up in bed last night and hit the floor in the office this morning. the question that is in the back of your throat, choking the blood to your brain, ringing in the ears over and over as you put it to yourself --
yes, bill. the question.