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Мразя клишетата (51)

Somewhere, in the galaxy

The God of Maths sharpens his pencil with a

concentrated look, pulls one end of his

moustache, chews the other one and says:

— Right, time to do some calculations.

For it takes a lot of mental acrobatics and

eyebrow twitching to create a chain of events

so that the right two people could meet.

The world starts to spin faster as the

dramatic moment draws nearer;

unimportant events and incidents take place to prepare the sequence;

neon lights start flashing

nonsense words and phrases come up on the

huge street screens;

the traffic at the roundabouts keeps

going and going — mesmerized —

while the sun looks at all the commotion and

        smiles benevolently

                Something happens

Sounds like the breaking of an egg

like the jangling of a pot on the floor

like a quarrel

        or a squirrel

like everything you’ve heard and yet not quite

        and so they meet

        First they don’t know it

then they start suspecting

                guessing

all cliches break like weak moulds

The God of Maths waxes his moustache, dons

on a sleeping net over it and with a happy

        grin goes to bed.

        A day’s work done.