Read Online In the Wind: Out of the Box, Book 2 by Robert J. Crane - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert J. Crane
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come up with nil that doesn’t make me look like an idiot, and shrug my shoulders.
She looks at me for a second and then turns back to watching the lobby. As soon as she’s not looking, I grimace at my stupidity. Way to go, Alpha Moron.
Once I’ve had enough time to transition through the five stages and come to acceptance of the fact that I’m a maroon, we start moving again. We go up an escalator that runs past a spiraling ramp into a sunlit room that’s covered by a geodesic dome type structure. Except it’s more of a glass ceiling.
“Hm,” she says, the first words she’s come out with in a while. “Pretty.”
“You know the geodesic dome was invented by Buckminster Fuller,” I say, and suddenly wonder why the Vatican doesn’t have like ten thousand Bibles within easy reach, just in case visitors decide to convert. Because right now I would take one and jam it down my piehole to keep myself from speaking. Praise Jesus, hallelujah. The word of God jutting out of my gullet could not be any more damaging to my cred with Perugini than my last few efforts in any case.
If she has an opinion on my idiocy, I miss it while trying to dig a hole in the earth to bury myself in. It’s actually less that and more a hot flush that crawls up my cheeks and blots out my memory of the following crucial seconds. Probably a defense mechanism for Alpha Male’s pride. Because he needs one.
The tour guide goes on a bit, leading us out into an expansive and sprawling courtyard. There’s something globe-like in the middle that brings to mind an Assassin’s Creed game. The day is brisk but not cold. There’s a wind, but it’s not frigid. Minnesota and Wisconsin have acclimated me to freezing my ass off at a much lower temperature than the balance of humanity would find acceptable. I don’t even have a jacket to offer Dr. Perugini, not that she’d take it at this point. Probably worried that my idiocy is contagious.
No, of course she wouldn’t think that; she’s a doctor. She just knows it’s genetic and that she wouldn’t want to have children with me.
See how my mind leaps, all wild and fancy free? This is how I end up on verbal cliffs.
We step into the building that encloses the courtyard, and I listen to the guide doing his thing. I’m on hyper alert now, eyes off Dr. Perugini, because I just know I’ll look like an even bigger moron if I get caught looking at the way her posterior causes the fabric of her dress to shimmer as she walks. I think I’ve made enough of a fool of myself for today, so I focus. If only I could have achieved this state of Zen some twenty minutes and innumerable embarrassments ago.
Part of this increased focus is because the tour guide is talking about some interesting stuff. We pass through a sculpture gallery, and he talks about how all those white marble statues from Ancient Greece and Rome probably had colored paint on them at some point. I try to imagine them with purple, yellow and red hues on them and it breaks my fricking brain. (Arguments could be made in light of my missteps with Dr. Perugini that my brain is already broken, and I see the reason in them.)
This place is art and architecture, everywhere. I’m not even that much of a fan of this stuff, and my senses are overwhelmed. There’s more statuary than in a sculptor’s shop, more frescoed or painted and gilded ceilings and crown-molding-ish trim on hallways than I imagine you’d find in the most ornate palaces of Europe. I start to make a sarcastic remark about it all to Perugini, but I remember to shut up just in time, because it’s the sort of thing that would probably be offensive to the majority of the population.
I wish, not for the first time, that Sienna was here. Now, though, it’s just so I’d have someone I could snark freely with.
We work our way quietly through countless displays. I see a statue by Michaelangelo that’s some of the finest work I can imagine. I keep my mouth shut, taking it all in.
She looks at me for a second and then turns back to watching the lobby. As soon as she’s not looking, I grimace at my stupidity. Way to go, Alpha Moron.
Once I’ve had enough time to transition through the five stages and come to acceptance of the fact that I’m a maroon, we start moving again. We go up an escalator that runs past a spiraling ramp into a sunlit room that’s covered by a geodesic dome type structure. Except it’s more of a glass ceiling.
“Hm,” she says, the first words she’s come out with in a while. “Pretty.”
“You know the geodesic dome was invented by Buckminster Fuller,” I say, and suddenly wonder why the Vatican doesn’t have like ten thousand Bibles within easy reach, just in case visitors decide to convert. Because right now I would take one and jam it down my piehole to keep myself from speaking. Praise Jesus, hallelujah. The word of God jutting out of my gullet could not be any more damaging to my cred with Perugini than my last few efforts in any case.
If she has an opinion on my idiocy, I miss it while trying to dig a hole in the earth to bury myself in. It’s actually less that and more a hot flush that crawls up my cheeks and blots out my memory of the following crucial seconds. Probably a defense mechanism for Alpha Male’s pride. Because he needs one.
The tour guide goes on a bit, leading us out into an expansive and sprawling courtyard. There’s something globe-like in the middle that brings to mind an Assassin’s Creed game. The day is brisk but not cold. There’s a wind, but it’s not frigid. Minnesota and Wisconsin have acclimated me to freezing my ass off at a much lower temperature than the balance of humanity would find acceptable. I don’t even have a jacket to offer Dr. Perugini, not that she’d take it at this point. Probably worried that my idiocy is contagious.
No, of course she wouldn’t think that; she’s a doctor. She just knows it’s genetic and that she wouldn’t want to have children with me.
See how my mind leaps, all wild and fancy free? This is how I end up on verbal cliffs.
We step into the building that encloses the courtyard, and I listen to the guide doing his thing. I’m on hyper alert now, eyes off Dr. Perugini, because I just know I’ll look like an even bigger moron if I get caught looking at the way her posterior causes the fabric of her dress to shimmer as she walks. I think I’ve made enough of a fool of myself for today, so I focus. If only I could have achieved this state of Zen some twenty minutes and innumerable embarrassments ago.
Part of this increased focus is because the tour guide is talking about some interesting stuff. We pass through a sculpture gallery, and he talks about how all those white marble statues from Ancient Greece and Rome probably had colored paint on them at some point. I try to imagine them with purple, yellow and red hues on them and it breaks my fricking brain. (Arguments could be made in light of my missteps with Dr. Perugini that my brain is already broken, and I see the reason in them.)
This place is art and architecture, everywhere. I’m not even that much of a fan of this stuff, and my senses are overwhelmed. There’s more statuary than in a sculptor’s shop, more frescoed or painted and gilded ceilings and crown-molding-ish trim on hallways than I imagine you’d find in the most ornate palaces of Europe. I start to make a sarcastic remark about it all to Perugini, but I remember to shut up just in time, because it’s the sort of thing that would probably be offensive to the majority of the population.
I wish, not for the first time, that Sienna was here. Now, though, it’s just so I’d have someone I could snark freely with.
We work our way quietly through countless displays. I see a statue by Michaelangelo that’s some of the finest work I can imagine. I keep my mouth shut, taking it all in.
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