TIME COLLAPSES, pancaking into layers. But at first a pure gray light, like the stirring opening note of an orchestral piece, lighting up the room. I am here. He is here. He is there and yet not there. Around a table, a dialogue is underway, as various experts deconstruct. This is the startup jury. Suvi says that she would not support my pitch. “He’s just too soft and kind,” she tells them. “Has too much empathy.” Suvi knows how to run a jury. She is a practical woman and values practicality. The jury agrees with her. “Not very Estonian,” someone says. But that is neither here nor there. The jury is meeting down the street. They are sequestered.
Later he is led into the lounge room. Three women are sprawled out in chaise lounges. They are wearing business attire. He kneels before the blonde chief commercial officer, or whoever she is, and takes her foot in his mouth. I have no idea why I am doing this. Foot in mouth? Why on earth would I want to do that? But the foot is so delicious, like the tastiest ice cream you’ve ever tasted. Somehow the smooth tan of her foot becomes caramel, her toe is cherry. Why hadn’t anyone told me about this secret? This is the yummiest dessert I’ve ever had in my mouth. Here the light is gray. The grass outside seven stories down is green, the mornings are gray. In the common area, men with mustaches are playing table tennis and there is music playing. In the lounge room, it’s foot-to-mouth resuscitation. What is this? The pleasure of submission? I just don’t know anything anymore. All virtue has collapsed.
north! 