He wasn't thinking about where he was going. He just jumped into his car and started driving. His feelings were unfolding one by one in his heart, transforming into thoughts in his mind. The question that he kept on repeating was why? He could not understand why everything happened. It was probably an answer that he would never receive. He saw the "have a nice trip" sign on the right and thought he should go on to the next town to see what was going on there. He had heard there was a concert in the main square and he decided to attend. He didn't particularly enjoy rock music, but this time it was the best medicine for him. He reached the centre of the city, he parked his car and headed for the mass of people in front. Suddenly, there she was standing in the crowd with a bottle of water in her hand. She was dressed in a short skirt and a white t-shirt. Her legs were slim and shone in the dim light of the lightpole. He went directly to her and stood right next to her.
"Nice music, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is."
"Are you a fan?"
"No, I just needed a breath of fresh air and the footsteps brought me here."

They played the game of cat and mouse. You know, when you meet someone, it's that staying alert that tires you until the end of the day. You listen, you look, you taste. What if everything is perfect? You know perfect doesn't exist. There has to be a flaw. But what if you can't help yourself and be completely honest? You do that when you become sure. But what if you are panic stricken as well? You do things, you say things you shouldn't say, you realise when it is too late what your mistakes are. Well, then you try again, nothing is as it should be, because when two broken hearts meet, it's difficult to connect and listen to each other's beat at the same time. All the bullshit goes on, you cannot take it, you cannot stop it. Each heart with its own bullshit. All this time, each heart follows its details trying to make up a story of its own for its own peace of mind. Each looks, listens, beats faster or slower. And when they find their details, they stop. One cannot wait anymore, the other just starts beating. Strange. Why should things happen when you want them? Well, they just don't. They take their time, they wait, and they act when they want to. But one heart disappears, while the other answers certain questions that seemed stupid at the time they were asked. One heart thinks of the reason for which it made those choices. Knowing that life was somewhere else, then moving to that particular place. All these seemed non-sense at the time, without the prospects of finding answers to them. Then, going to work seemed a journey of initiation every time, taking too long and crossing a whole town. But that particular street and that particular building on the left always caught the attention. When memories come back, together with other such bits of surreal information, the heart starts beating faster and faster. It starts believing that it has sorted out the most important mystery of life. But how could it tell such a thing? It seems like something taken from a surrealist novel, where nothing makes any sense. Just pieces put together like a puzzle where everything fits together perfectly. The hearts beat together, feel each other. One goes on its way and the other one is torn to even more pieces than it was before. One phone call in the middle of the night was enough to ruin everything. One asked for it, the other one gave it without a blink of an eye. Then, there remains the question: Who won the game of cat and mouse? Wondering, celebrating.

John was watching TV when the phone rang. He reached to the receiver, but it was on the other side of the table. He leaned back on the couch, resting his head on the cushion. The phone kept on ringing, screeching his eardrum deeper and deeper. Finally he picked it up and said "hello". His mother tried to greet him, but she seemed to be drowning, barely able to inhale.

"What's the matter, mom?" John was up and ready to leave. He was looking all over the place for the car keys. He started lifting the vase, the books, the plates from the coffee table. The shelves were full of books and pictures. The hanger was in the hall, he wanted to search the pockets as well.

"Your father...he had a...stroke. We're at the hospital." she answered after two minutes.

"I'll be right there. I just have to find my keys."

"I can't talk to the doctors. Your father..."

"Mom, everything will be alright. He will be fine. I'm on my way."

The keys were hiding behind the vase on the coffee table. He remembered throwing them there last night when he came home from the party. He only wanted to close his eyes and wake up the next morning. She was there, dancing with that guy. They separated two years ago, so he shouldn't have felt the need to throw a punch. He turned his eyes away and ordered a beer. He focused on that the three hours he stayed there.

He grabbed the keys and ran out to the car. In a blink of an eye he was at the hospital. The camera from the stoplight took a snapshot of him crossing the red light. He almost heard it. He entered the hospital and looked for his mother. She was sitting on a chair with her napkins between her fingers. She raised her eyes and saw him standing there.

"Don't worry. I'm here now."

John was travelling by train to the meeting in Connecticut. He was forced by his manager to attend because their company had to be represented. His presentation had been already written by their accounting office, something about financial statements. They knew he didn't know very much about it, so they had written it as a speech to be read from pieces of paper scattered all over the desk. The requirements didn't state that the speaker should be an accountant. Nobody wanted to go; Lisa had to visit her parents, Mitch had tickets to the game. John knew he was being set up with this, but he played their game anyway. New places and new faces would help him order the agenda that was unfolding in his mind. The rent, the bills, the job, Jeanie. Not necessarily in that order. Mostly Jeanie. She would pop up in front of his eyes during meetings, when he would work at the computer, passing by the TV. Her figure would remain for a longer time there, silent and spectacular. He always enjoyed watching her wash the dishes or vacuuming. He would study her handling the tubes or the plates; she would always care not to break anything. 'Again, Jeanie. Stop this nonsense.' John filled his lungs with air and watched the cornfields through the train window. He remembered that he had packed a small sandwich before he left home that morning. He stood up and took it from the bag. He sat down again and started eating. Each bite would stop in his throat. He had to drink water to help the pieces reach their final destination. There, they felt like small rocks bouncing on the pavement when cars passed by. After a few minutes, everything calmed down as if nothing ever happened. Great, next bite. After one hour, he threw the napkin into the bin and dragged the file with presentation from his suitcase. Suddenly a drop of blood poured on the small desk in front. 'Shit', shouted John, forgetting that he had neighbours on the right and on the left. They were reading peacefully their newspaper. One of them was listening to music, he could see his feet tapping the rhythm. He began reading the presentation, accounts, calculations, numbers all over. 'How can this be interesting to anyone? Whatever. I just have to read them, that's all.'