Last night I put out a cigarette butt in the planter. When the delicious smell of an exotic BBQ not much later caressed my nose, I thought it was time to go to bed.
More than eight hours later I awoke.
Like every morning, I shuffled to the window and opened the curtains.
Astonishment. The planter. His positioning. His transformation! The earth spread out on the tiles of my terrace, the planks protested against cohesion and the mint plants seemed unable to restrain their desire for a cup of tea.
The ensemble needed a closer inspection. Even up close you could hardly speak of a planter.
“Neighbor!” I heard a sonorous female voice call. I looked around. No one. The neighbor must have been after me. A rapprochement that I couldn't pass up. I answered her advances with a firm 'yes'.
Didn't I hear the bell ringing? Did I still have the sam
e phone number? Didn't I put my cigarette butt in an ashtray with a layer of water? Hadn't I heard the buckets of water from the upstairs neighbors chatting on my terrace? Had I not heard the firemen who had come out at her call to extinguish the infernal fire?
With one word I could answer all her pressing questions:
I like waking up from reality.