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.
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.