The Walt Disney Corporation has hired me to assemble a montage of witch imagery from cartoon material.
I work from a central seat in an IMax theatre, alone, arranging the witches with my mind. They fly about on broomsticks, superimposed on a cloudy pink sky - city pink, persistent. I make them divebomb near one another. The screen is a flurry of bristle and hag. It fills me with glee to have such a silly job.
My boyfriend surprises me in the midst of my work and I suddenly feel embarassed about it. Cartoons are so childish! But his delight over the witches sweeps my fear away - 'i knew you were a witch', says he.
We look down at my shoes, now pointy and black. I grin at him and hop on a broom, inviting him to ride on the back (like geezer Harley riders). We fly.
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