(thosehornsandchellos)

I can hear the music as it plays him in.
Hes dressed in fine robes and his beard glistens.
Its hot and oily but the dust doesn't seem to stick to it.
It just drifts aimlessly around around in the common breeze.
He walks with a certain source of grace. He floats along and seems not to touch the ground. Commanding.
A prescence.
He sits down slowly and starts to speak.
A low kind of voice that seems to sooth and persuade.

I can hear the music as it plays him in.

A soft reggae groove.
A pulsing healthy rythmn and a sweet melody.
"Your novel", he began to say.
"I'm not sure if I want you to use my name."
"This one wasn't really written by me. I'm not sure your accurately representing me. "
He paused and said. "People are taking this so literaly."
"Really? Don't they have anything at all to add?"
"Someone? Somewhere? with something that they need to say."
He would be confused thinking.
"I thought that dad gave 'em free will. Does this have something to do with me as well?"
I can hear the music as it plays him in.