Our Father

I was in a swanky New York penthouse apartment in the 1970’s that had a bubbling gold-accented swimming pool near the balcony which somehow physically restored you upon entering, granting you eternal life after you had signed a contract on an ancient scroll of parchment.

An oldish man was also there and we were apparently good friends. He had shoulder length flowing white hair and a Grecian Gods’ physique however he had decided that today was the day that he was going to die. He gave me the contract scroll and made me burn it starting with one of the corners. As it started to burn he excited encouraged me to smoke it like a cigar.

Ultimately he seemed more worried about the joke not quite landing than the onset of his rapid demise.

As I rolled up the thick burning paper and took a couple of pulls from it, the man walked through a billowing curtain onto a balcony and then disappeared before he could make it to the other side as the contract disintergrated in flames.