New Year’s Eve 2011 among the One Percent
Sublime synchronicity, sweetest fortune, similes and smiles playing at dysfunction, while in the wings dulcet melodies air from fiscal conservative lairs and striking pairs dance to anachronistically tailored affairs.
Lay hold, lay on, lie down croons one, the cry first echoed by another and then another until a chorus of indistinguishable voices mutters somewhat frightful vows in shades of scarlet, blackest blue, the strident cacophony invading the dullards annual ball.
How dare they dare to dare cries one, the one in the center, the one protectively hunched over (or so it seems) the beautifully pallid young orphan girl. Then grasping her hand he pulls the ungratefully reluctant wretch into the safely of his fetid embrace.
Come, come, my dear he whispers in her ear, let us, for at least the nonce, away and high from here. The air’s a bit too stifling for one as delicate as thou.
 © Guillermo Calvo Mahé; Manizales, 2012; all rights reserved