Chris delegates. Pete grabs the smoke machine. James
finds the inflatable palm tree. Your task is to select a CD from the shelf.
'Any genre in particular?'
'Nah, we lost track of what they did.'
You slip Enya into the player atop the fridge and the
Orinoco flows.
Chris calls from outside: 'Louder.'
You turn dial from 20 to 25.
'Louder.'
'It's one in the morning, we'd get a complaint.'
'Louder, damn you.'
Chris spins the dial to 65 and leads you by the hand out front. The blaring 'sail away, sail away, sail away'
follows you down the driveway. The music stops upon stepping on the
council pathway between front yard and road.
You follow Chris' jumping back and forth. The music
resumes full-volume upon re-entering the property. The music disappears upon
entering public land.
Chris: 'No one else can hear it. Well, maybe the place out
back, subdivision might complicate things.'
You go 'How the fuck?' but after you both start back
inside. Chris takes a grey-water tube from behind the washing machine. He runs
it from smoke machine, on the patio, to inflatable palm tree, on the
roof. Smoke is diverted from the machine and spreads from the plastic fronds to
become a cloud three storeys above suburbia. An egg-shaped device is placed on
gazebo roof and it shoots directionless beams on light.
Chris gestures to Pete, who turns the music up
to full volume. It hurts your ears and bends the egg's lights towards the cloud of
smoke. The cloud reflects the light, becomes shapes and symbols recognisable to
the human eye, a spectacle to behold: two men performing mutual fellatio.
You garnish with:
No comments:
Post a Comment