…a dialog with deplorables…
I was walking home after a moderate jog in the park, looking at the barren trees and the boughs where late the sweet birds sang… – thinking ahead about the daffodils that come before the swallows dare…, when I heard a voice calling me. It was Alexis, the son of Callimacus, crossing the street to talk to me.
- YDS, he said, we haven’t seen you for a while. How are you doing?
- Like the time of the year between the extremes of hot and cold, neither sad nor happy, I replied.
- Listen, he said, after we exchanged the customary formalities. There is a new discussion group at the club. We meet after hours two days a week to exchange views and comments on current affairs. A debating society for students who are past their dancing days, if you like. Our friends will be happy to see you, let’s go together.
- What is the name of the discussion group? I asked.
- “The Basket of Deplorables,” he replied. We started it when it seemed impossible that the woman whose sole name blisters my tongue could lose the elections. It was our unarmed Platonic rebellion.
- You know that I prefer to grow old in the company of myself, Alexis, but for you I will make an exception. After all, what are friends, if you never see them?
