July 19, 2009

The Golden Hummingbird

(Three pensive people in evening dress stand on a terrace. Through the doors behind them the low hum of a party and the fanciful musings of a piano can barely be discerned.)

Lars: The night stretches out before us.

Priscilla (sighing): Like a surgical glove without fingers.

Alvin: Truth is laike that sometimes.

Lars: Fictional, you mean?

Alvin: Lambent, Lars old chum, lambent.

Priscilla (sighing): Why tonight of all nights? Alvin, Lars, why don’t we just fling ourselves away? Madly! Wildly!

Lars: We mustn’t.

Alvin: It wouldn’t be right.

Priscilla (sighing): I suppose. At least THEY’RE happy.

Lars: Of course. They’ve got the bird.

Alvin (wistful): The golden hummingbird.

Priscilla (sighing): Darn.


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