Governor beetles ramped on the crowd, circled and spun on the multi-cloned chessboards as whirligigs on a still lake. Bright lights gleamed in the background, the stars were pictured on the high walls, a wing spread abroad overshadowed the bowers and arbours that had no verdure. Rembrandt’s rhapsody tangled between my chewing teeth; while members ever recall nights in the Mexican draw, wilting froward faces of lettuce frown and brown, talling the grey cases in two-by-two stacks.
Brain felt matted between the grates to dry indoors with the hand gale, twisted sharpeners stashed under the threshold cry out; another white keeping in the annex braved the membrane to speak to faces. Sacked potato meal sprayed from a height on the breadth of the chessboards, turned them edge to edge for the palm of a circling wing, diverse from tiles in a simple game. While the crowd departs, others sweep up the shavings from the high walls.