I sit in my second home and it’s Sunday Roast at work but it’s actually Sunday night around our dinner table and I eat and drink and laugh and watch others eat and drink and laugh and I’m happy and exhilarated and so so calm. The noise is a cacophony and my silence a blissful addition.
I sit in my second home and I laugh and laugh and I laugh until I cry and the pitch of my voice slants sideways which often makes me self conscious but not here because we’re all talking at the same time about different things and laughing at different times about the same things and the lurching pitch of my voice is just an addition to the medley. Our laughter is the music and mine a member of the choir.
I sit in my second home and six hours passes me by and I feel like I’m watching one million mall surveillance screens except the tapes have been sped up and spliced together. People sit down and get up and hug hello and hug goodbye and spill drinks and drop food in their laps and clean haphazardly and I clean because I’m clear-headed and also it’s my second home and it’s Sunday Roast at work but it’s actually Sunday night around our dinner table and I’m a mother or maybe a brother or even a lover or perhaps all of these people at once then nobody at all.