Idle Class Chatter (redux)

“Just carry a glass or something.”

“I’ve heard the most intriguing things about you.”

(light classical tune is playing)

“Really?”

“Will no one hold you accountable?”

“Me? Never. You?”

“I don’t know. But I feel like we’re on the road to nowhere.”

An early sign of change was spotted outside. It could be seen through the grand room sliders. Clouds were gathering in formation and staring at the dinner party guests. There was tinkling glass and the smell of burning lamb wafting from the kitchen.

“Hey, get a load of this. Look at the clouds.”

“Oh my goodness.”

“That’s amazing.”

The smoke became dense and flames began spreading through the living room shag. Then the chaise longe caught fire and the ottoman whooshed into flames.

“Hey, look. The clouds are forming a ring around the setting sun.”

“It looks like a pumpkin pie festooned with whipped—“

“Folks, please move out into the backyard. The house is on fire.”

“Oh, my god. No!”

“That’s ok. The clouds and sun do our bidding. They always do. Remember, we are the first estate. We’ll build a new house, no matter. It’s you good, god-fearing folks that can’t be replaced. Grab your drinks and let’s head outside. The help will do what they can in here.”

“Wee!”

“Off we go.”

“Oh, Splendid.”

What I’m Reading:

A shotgun echoes despairingly from the valley.

Choral mushrooms.

Queen Anne’s lace sweetens wild carrot breath.

The earth’s rigid plates drift below the daisy.

— Lewis Meyers / “Summer Letters”