I sit down with the governor for another Ikea breakfast featuring Stein’s buttons. The active still life objects are boiling in their own guts, doing so in a tank once reserved for live lobsters.
Topics of conversation range from the mundane to sinister. Imagine shifty eyes and a domino mask. I bring up the mysterious black lines appearing intermittently throughout the most recent proposal. He lifts a finger to signal our server. It seems as though the brat plates are acting up. Sugar cubes are gaining consciousness. My cup jiggles. Who needs live lobsters with this sort of company?
Then, it’s on to lighter fare. The governor has doodled a smiley face in the margins. I’ll have to ask him if he remembers scribbling that down or what.