Least Common Denominators

That afternoon, on what would be the last day of my life, I went to see Marshall Roquefort’s lecture, entitled “How Things Are.” When I got there, the sky was cloudy, and I think I felt a drop or two. Inside, Doctor Roquefort’s head looked like a hot-air balloon. He began his sermon with an anecdote about two cranes who found love: they smelled very similar. Mid-way through, while he was discussing the effects of disco music on South African Tapirs, his microphone cut out. He pulled a megaphone out of his shiny leather briefcase and continued, not even bothering to start his sentence over. His concluding remarks were: “Life, you see, is simple and grey.” Then everyone seemed to acknowledge the end, and shuffled out, their dull green parkas making a sound like crumpling paper. Outside, everything – every car, every coffee shop, every second-hand book store – had become a pile of unfinished bricks. I wasn’t sure I liked it, but it was sure easy.