Origami's afternoon with Mini-me

Today will be a special day. No that the other time when we meet up are not out of the ordinary but today, in exactly in half hour, according the received text message, something unprecedented will happen. The location of this event it is my one bed room flat in South London just outside Elephant & Castle. I chose the safe wall of my apartment for a very evident reason. I am a lazy kind of life’s freestyler and I can not have the same sense of relieve if I do not pee in a familiar bowl. One little phobia of mine; it soon developed when I started living alone.
Mini-me is a long acquaintance of mine and soon we discover to have good time between our bizarre meetings. Our friendship still base on the fact we have separate spaces to crush landing. We are complementary personalities who react well when together and behave aristocratic when left in their thoughts. Of curse I need to point out that most of our reunions happen to be very stressful thanks to the amount of paper stick together and roll in Jamaica origami. But at the end of the day we always said goodbye to each other with a smile and more rich inside.
A man with passion for motor racing but annoy by the continuous repeat of car programs; a man with facultative mental balance. I had to admit to him how vital our role was to each other. He confess how it was thanks to me that he recognize he was the same bloke he saw yesterday because the Countdown‘s episode we were watching was a reply. I got of the longest words. I did not mock him for this “lack of timing” seeing the frustrating joy of his answers deprive of victory by the final countdown. My attentions were divided between his twenty-eight years of television history, anectodotos ad host and the small frolic black dress of the soubrette. I let Mini-me know how it highlights her back and front hills, bum and tits for the people who didn’t went to Eaton. TRANSFORM nine letters; his grim appear and she is good with the number too.
This afternoon is filling with a different set of mind. The news of a new relocation for him is the company of the traditional cup of tea offered to sweeten the taste of rising smoke. The die sun continues to bring its colour from outside to give to every words a different meaning, a new explanation. The anxiety of an uncertain future and its taking-control balance the memory of what, somewhere around the world, was a sweet home. A sip warm the throat; a puff expand the horizons donate a starting blip for another smoothly joint.
The black and white faces of the battles above the English sky refresh the pride of his bold head. It was 1967 when Mini-me started be deprive by his youth look; I am not far for the end of my puberty myself. Bold man wearing glasses, like us, are always being intimedating by other eyes. It has something to do with what we know. The year in question has Mini-me in Northern Ireland with blessing of the Queen and a medal pinned to his proud mix-race chest. Hard time for everyone on the side of the law instead for the many caught in the middle, like my guest.
For fifty pence, about twenty-four pounds in this recession, it was possible to look with a different prospective to events rolled in front your eyes. With the 70’s upon him with all the spiritual and material turmoil the odd jobs gave to Mini-me enough to search his temple in El Dorado city. Even today he still is looking for it.
I miss the chances to live that beautiful time; not entirely my fault but a simple miss-timing of my confinement. I am too young to remember the slogans but the desire to fall peacefully in love has catch up with me not much later of my sixteen birthdays and that it was not what I call a celebration but this afternoon thanks to Mini-me I have the to make up the missing decade of my life, as he shows me how a 70’s origami can be roll with the help of three short papers and one wooden match.
I went close to perfect happiness in five years at sea. Mini-me watches me from the other side of the coffee table, or tea-table seems we sip forwards the end of our fourth cup, behind an iron curtain of smoking hallucinations. His silences invite me to talk about it; a muse over of continuo flashbacks. I remember all of them as they were just yesterday life.
The beauty of that environment by me so cherish was stoned simple; there was not a way to escape from the high of the sky and the deep of the water; two elements which in my alternative mind represent freedom in its pure meanings. The audacity of that sea-prison, as I like it to call, was perceived by all. I try to explain to Mini-me how the sense of to have nowhere to go liberate you, how the ship’s chores were more reversals ground for different adaptations instead of essential manual work. I was a professional employer one day and the other I was pleasuring middle age American women in the laundry locker. Texan ones love to ride; New Yorkers fancy a more mouths to mouth approach. I was free to create my moral boundaries in exchange for my devotion to achieve the common main goal: to float.
Mini-me lost me when I turn up in Acapulco with the night which follow and with his judicial finger he brings to light a possible Titanic connection between me and my ancestors. What difference can make to be born forty-two years early. He went in time traveller mood. His eyes sparkle, his hands fiddle the paper, his nose smells the acrylic smoke of another burning origami. Mini-me looks my direction with the key for another door of the close future to be reopen .Both of us lost, timeless, in another perception.