“Now I’ve brought you all here to tell you, first of all, I’m not *better* than you. Just, um, higher.”
“Wacky, man,” says Roberts primarily for grinning partner Franklin beside her. They’d been partaking of the sacred bush just before. Now: here. Fire brought them together.
“True, Albert is lower in contrast, but we all work as a team, a TILE if you will. Blue (he points to himself), green or red, take your pick (he points to Roberts and then Franklin), and, finally, you (he points to Albert).”
“Me? I ain’t lower than anyone. I’m a prevert and I’ve accepted my role in life. It’s you guys who are in the wrong. Trying to kill me!”
Silence from the still guilty feeling women, as Claude says: “Now, now, Albert. No one is in the wrong. Each has their challenges, *including* me. That’s what I’m trying to say to you.”
They look each other over with this, one by one, realizing the truth of it all, if only subconsciously. A TILE, back and forth and across balance. Blue should have been opposite yellow and green opposite red, but Claude wasn’t in charge of setting up the chairs. Probably an intern, he thinks.
“I’ll begin,” he then says.