Couldn't be what I'm really thinking, is it?

Am thinking a lot about form today. I'm thinking lots about form this day. Form's catchin' a lot o'thought from me t'day. Today, form doesn't want for a bit of cogitation.

It's story time again, where the voices are talking, the scenes are sketched, but the course of events, the meaning, the symbolism have to gel before I stop writing on napkins and call-in sheets. Point of view calls out for a decision or two and if I can stop pondering the advantages of front-load to side-load washers I'm sure I can sort out the prosthetics issue.

It's the calm before the storm. Ideas circle and I'm calling out "Red! No, black! Put it on black!" and the croupier says "We require a number as well." Someone says "Banco" and I know I'm pretty far afield from what I should be thinking about. The casino seems messy, but it's just my head, you know? My head's handing out comps to the high rollers, the characters that are definitely gonna be there, and I don't even know if they're destined to make it back to the bus alive when their stake's gone.

The characters have that smug look like they'll be fine; roughed up a little, sure, that's the game John plays. Pure malice says "Wipe that stupid smile off your faces; I haven't even begun with you lot yet." Am I waiting for the ball to drop? Or is the ball waiting for a decision?

I'm gonna have a cookie. Then we'll see who gets out of here when the comps dry up.