1121. AMENDED MYOPIA

AMENDED MYOPIA

'We have broken into the melange of waiters and flavors

and trays. Now this vague kitchen is, suddenly, happy

again.' No reason to take it past that, there is no

reason at all. Nor to understand. Mad preachers get

like this after a while : henhouses and blather, try-outs

for salvation with real winners and real losers. You can

never figure it out. The high clouds of Heaven, now

dependant on so much, really count for so little.

-

'You don't have to like it, but we've all been here

before, and still are.' The salt shaker was on the

tabletop, and the soup bowl, sloppy and empty

and stained, was by itself next to a crumpled

cloth napkin. The High Priest of Max Factor,

or someone just like him, had just walked in.

-

'The settlement is open, for grace or for prayer.'

Everyone sat down, entered their little parcels

with greedy hands, and - seemingly at once -

pulled out their little black songbooks. No one

really wanted to sing, they just weren't used

to it, but they did so anyway. It was bad, and

and you could really tell. Life like this

could really be Hell.