the clouds over Mount Ayr pass like air. the two-of-a-kind enjoy the Jazz Bash at the Portola Hotel conference centre and steakburgers at the Ground Round.
Doryce: thought the sign said Pound. and i'm not talking British.
Gladyce: no more pot from Wesleyan. Messleyan more like it amirite.
the ladies highfive each other.
Gladyce: those ovens really are for indian food and scrod. railway chicken curry. in kati pockets.
Doryce: i like microwaveable indian food but why does it always have to be so hot all the time? like roof-numbing hot, burning your jaw off. can't i taste all the meaty goodness without it being drowned in spice? i don't know what cold meat tastes like anymore.
Gladyce: japanese-style grilled white meat. had it at the Front Academy on Mount Pleasant. a film maven with Slavic hair fed it to me whilst explaining as best he could to me trade deficits at the World Cup Trading Championships. station WTVR was covering it.
Doryce: whatever. i really need to get railed.
Bama with his Slavic hair is sleeping on a bale of hay with the pitchfork. which is really the afro and afro-pick of DeMar.
Doryce: or some maple pecan granola cereal with rice milk in place of.
Gladyce: i'm a Diet Cokehead.
Nunberg: hold my Diet Coke.
crones and Emma: you scared us!
Emma walks the other way with her new boyfriend Red Gerard.
Emma: holding it down for the millennials.
Agnes Varda arrives with Stan Lee on her arm .
Agnes: i know i know but does it always have to be Stan Lee?
Gladyce: Jack's Quality Organic Superior Pinto Beans. you know how they get so Superior? did i tell you this story? they're triple-washed. and it's not all water if you get my meaning.
Doryce: feed your phenomenal. has it been a year already? everyone's coming back. one revolution round the sun.
Gladyce: fetch me my oval of sleeping powder, dear, the one with the white rose painted on the oval.
Doryce tips the oval over, shaking out the last pieces of felt.
Doryce: nothing in here but cashew dust.
Gladyce: cashew friction dust. i'm afraid to sleep.
Doryce: perfect for peckish.
Gladyce grabs to hold Doryce's hand and holds onto three fingers.
Gladyce: we did it, hon. we won. we had this experience of contemplation together. people think contemplation must be done alone for it to work. the disease couldn't destroy us just then. these series of moments will live forever. now i can die alone happy knowing i wasn't alone.
Doryce: oh love you mustn't talk like that, you'll get me to cry. one look at you and i'll start crying, i've been trying to hold it in this whole time, to be strong for you. don't be the reason i fog up my glasses.
Gladyce: i know and i'm sorry. momentary. where to next?
Doryce: i don't know.
Gladyce raises one bony finger and her guttural laugh.
Gladyce: follow the snow!
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