Rattling off obscenities at the masses, now smaller than three quarters from the start, the auction for the prize is under way. Sacrificially merely for keepsakes, the hint of bargain basement hounds leaves the vultures at bay, circling with intent.
Mystic in description, the prize in this case happens to be only respite of the maddening game that lies ahead and all around them. There is no real prize per se. All being rather a matter of opinion and semantics.
Semantics rule the world and there is no reason why it would be excluded here. Even if.
Like and unlike, the gathering is nonetheless occupational and forthright enough in delivering even a middling flicker of a time out. Watching on and figuring out the figures can be half the fun, if maths has anything to do with it.
But even if...
Written on Wednesday, 26 July 2006