Stars in my eyes


The space static makes me think of the girl at school, the rich bitch with the teasing eyes I always wanted to bed down but couldn’t.

She was the best thing about space academy, though being 16 then I didn’t know it at the time.

My father urged me to go to business school and even arranged for a position on the Queen’s staff if I did.

But being 16, I had stars in my eyes.

Still do, though now they mean something different as the orbit of this two bit moon turns them into numbers on a clock.

Power’s down.

Time is passing.

My replacement is late.

I call command to find out when the line will go up again and when I can expect the next shift.

The man there tells me he doesn’t know and leaves me to watch the shifting stars.

I always though business would bore me, all those numbers to account for, a dull life of repeated ritual with no room for romance.

What did I know?

How could I see then what the stars really mean?

The power grid comes back on.

The line starts moving

The containers creep again across the moon’s surface towards the big dig, a line filled from the space port with an unending flood of metal and junk.

How could I know back then I would become a trash man for the stars?

Very romantic. I try not to lose count.


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