I look out and ponder what is out there, in the universe, past the lush greeness of the lawn, the fence,
What was it Arthur Dent was expecting, or not expecting as he wasn’t expecting anything, let alone looking for anything not to expect.
On the train the adventures of Arther Dent continue.
Erm are you feeling peckish? I see it but don’t notice it. Is it calling me. Is it calling us? Is that telephone number so improbably probable that it probably isn’t.
Sitting here, on the station platform at Walsall many miles from Lush Greeness of the garden I wonder where the train could take us today. Will it take us anywhere.
There I see is now, This space could be yours. The numbers right there. But right now…
I wish I knew where I could find the Restaurant at the End of Universe.
So book one is finished, complete, but not complete, a mere introduction of the path to follow.
I put it down, and look foward, and around at where it is I’ll be taken next, weather I to be or not. There is no lack of adventure, but adventure is far better with someone to share it with, someone to laugh at the bad parts, that become the funny parts, that become memorable parts.
Just where is the Restaurant at the End Of The Unvierse. I’ve got to get there, I need the adventure, i feel for adventure, I need to fly, but here I walk, I could once more walk on by. But I don’t. I stare at the closed front, and walk up to it.
I look inside, its gone, its disappeared, sucked up into the infinity of the universe we are all floating in. No more chips to be put on the table. No slab of haddock to be battered to a tangible task spectacular. No now we will have to venture further, for the same irrestablillty. But just how far, I’m willing to go, I willing to find the end of the universe.
Before the universe itself disappears from infront of me.