We Played Dress-up in Their Basement…

The Palisades soiree was one thing that I needed all summer long. Everyone can appreciate a nice break in routine. For a while, I felt like we were salesmen on conveyor belts to the circus yard. We had expended our hopes and dreams for variety. And, sure enough, we got even with such a burden. We loaded a car, drifted into a pocket of wealthy greenrock, and tumbled all throughout a giant dollhouse cradling secret passageways, spiral staircases, and remnants of relics only found in romantic frontier tales. Peace at last. I planted myself on a patch of grass when no one was looking. I listened to what the trees had to say about us visitors. I didn’t mind the time passing, nor much of anything at such a great and defining moment. I climbed into the basement to find my fellow travelers dressed up as what would only suit them if time had stopped indefinitely. We expanded shoulder muscles with gratis matchpoints. Solids got even with stripes. Long sticks got aquainted with short sticks. We were told of fingercuffs ruining the felt, but we didn’t mind it much. We came to play, rain or shine.