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The day everything became nothing, I was standing underneath a
streetlight, wishing I had a cigarette. I can't recall anything
unusual about it. If there was something in the air, if the skies had
clouded over, I wasn't aware, I was too bored to care. No thunder
roared. No lightning cracked. No missiles rained from the sky. This
was no sneak attack. There was just suddenly this awful lack. Things
had changed, that's for sure.
The day everything became nothing, you couldn't put your finger on
what had gone wrong. The alleys were still dirty; the garbage still
smelled; there was no panic in the streets; just a lot of grief--in
people's faces, in their eyes--a mixture of horror and total surprise.
This was no apocalypse. No one heard a voice from the sky, there were
no miracles at the 7-Eleven, no one screamed, no one even asked why.
It was just like everything had somehow, quietly died. So let it die!
I can't recall much of what happened next. I was on my way to visit
this woman I knew. All we had in common was good sex, and now I
couldn't even remember her address. A group of us, just strangers,
got together and we formed a committee to discuss the problem. We
talked about things like assured mutual destruction and emotional
responsibility. I couldn't remember my name, so I called myself Bob.
It's weird being a Bob, but I'll get used to it. I have to.
HATA BİLDİR
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