Thursday, March 5, 2009

The Leisure Class

Something indefinable yet immeasurably awful has happened to The Leisure Class.

A man has completed his tennis game yet he lingers, emptily pondering his racquet. Is he merely trying to stretch out these last moments before he must put down his racquet and join the men behind him or is he so paralyzed by terror that he is entirely unaware of their presence?

The man in white seated at the far left bores a look of accusation into the man who shares his table. Why didn’t you order ME an iced tea? Why did you sleep with my wife? This man he confronts writhes in his seat, too filled with shame and loathing to meet this gaze.

The other two men seated at the adjacent tables want nothing to do with each other or the argument brewing in the foreground. They don’t drink their beverages because they never wanted them in the first place. They are not waiting for someone to join them because no one is coming. They don’t leave because they don’t know how.

Though they wallow in The Leisure Class these lives before you are devoid of meaning and they have lost the capacity to feel love, to feel joy, to feel anything.

Seconds turn into minutes, minutes turn into hours. Nothing will happen today. They know this. Everything must erode like the dying light of the afternoon sun behind them. And then there will be nothing but the bleak, black sleep which calls us all home.

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