Nuh-uh. That’s not what I’m thinking. Listen. Just a few of them get together. A handful. The usual grist for the usual mill. Charismatic. Young. Energetic. Intelligent, as far as it goes. Freakishly attractive. Of course. But the thing is, they hide it.
They hide what?
All of that. All of it.
A pause. Which lengthens. Someone sighs.
All right. They hide it. But there’s always been X percent of the population that fits that description, Carol. I’ll go one in ten thousand. Maybe fifteen. Baggy clothes, shit haircuts. They eschew cosmetics, keep their mouths shut. Maybe some nun scared them shitless when they were nine. Maybe they’re --
No, I don’t mean they quash it. I mean they hide it.
From who?
From everyone. From us. From everyone but each other.
Well why? No, don’t tell me. Anarchists again. They want to wear bandanas over their faces, burn SUVs. Throw trash cans through the movie screens that would otherwise, what. Steal their souls.
Those are just the religious again, Mike. We’ve been through that. These aren’t anarchists. They’re thieves.
Another pause. The second hand sweeps a considerable ways around the face of the Swiss clock over the door.
They’re stealing from us. From the system we created. That’s essentially what’s happening here. If it’s happening.
