>>>"Years of practice, daily, with various strokes and ball positions",
>>>says NY, who's oblivious to any misinterpretation that may be
>>>occuring.
>
>>As he speaks, Lisa notices the inscription on his case
>
>> Cue me in anytime
>
>>Indeed.
>
>Freud on Nightfly: This boy is obviously having trouble with his ego,
>it is totally out of proportion to the rest of his psyci.
Freud: Sometimes a stick is only a cue without a clue.
Eyebrown settles back in his chair, sips his drink, and watches the
activity around him. Nightfly appears to have lost interest in the game.
He's surrounded by a large group of women and a few men gazing with rapt
fascination at his cuestick. Nightfly, happy for the attention, is running
the stick through a few demonstration moves.
Lisa and Gene are relaxing at the table, cards forgotten. Gene's skin is
glowing from his recent retexturization.
Sourcerer is wandering the perimeter of the yard with a sack over his
shoulder, carrying a long pole (which, while straight and thick, isn't in
the same category as Nightfly's cuestick). He looks happy.
The rest of the punks are carousing on the porch, enjoying the final days
of summer.
Everyone looks quite content. Can this be dystopia? wonders eyebrown.
Surely there are those out there who would look upon this tranquil scene
with horror. Then, can it be utopia? Surely there are those among the
happy punks who would wish their lives were far better and more fulfilling
than they are--probably most if not all of them. Looks like the arguments
are rather pointless he decides (bracing himself for withering reponses).
Looks like dystopia and utopia are words with such individual and
subjective meanings that no amount of discussion could possibly culminate
in a consensual definition. Every nightmare is somebody's fondest desire,
he decides epigrammatically.
eyebrown
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