He’s over with the latest, we settle like migrating birds over the polished whoelsomeness of the pine kitchen table. From a rounded tube, he withdraws the plans. On the table they fight against being uncurled, he curls the paper back the other way, it looks like he’s having a fight with a morning broadsheet newspaper. It crackles and snaps like a campfire and eventually settles. A small mountain stream of excitement soon turns to a fountain as we see what might be in store. Where we now sit would be expanded into the back yard and a whole other story will manifest above us, with a master bedroom with ocean view. Yes, the dream, the ideal fulfilled. He is the dream maker.
Coffee, tea and buns are supplied for morning tea while we chew over the realities of the project, fingers trace spidery lines that weave together in the near perfect plan of walls and windows. A bit of toasted raisin gets stuck in my teeth after releasing itself from the doughy prison of the Boston bun, easily cleansed and redeemed by swigs of piping hot tea. Straight tea, no milk, no sugar, just the pure bitter taste of tannon tainted tea, lovely. We try to imagine how these plans might translate to reality,and fortunately he has his modeling PC with him, the program opens up as if its some X-box arcade game, I almost expect a crack army elite team to emerge from behind the kitchen alcove, or a desperate villain with morning shadow to come scooting down the hallway, but no it ‘s all muted pastels and fake picassos over the walls, polished floorboards gleam and wink at us.
