Livingroom
J, in a living-room
On a starry night two guys are sitting on a chest of drawers, dangling their legs and thinking of life, universe and everything. With life on a cheese board on a brick-red pedestal away at the window, they are thinking about how they will come there without being seen and still being children at heart. With the lounge suite in between cluttered up with messy directions, unwritten rules and a ball of ways, the guys are ad-libbing about what is important to them – and how they shall absolutely not do.
It is not to be thought of coming there discovering that the Brie has not got any favour anymore and that there is no more cloudberry jam with the deep-fried camembert. Or that the pedestal crashes down because of the wood having become rotted while you have been mingling around among fine words and in lavish rooms.
No, then you should rather, freely and easily, jazz over to the cheese without any frills and, with a cheese board in one of your hands and a bottle of “Arial Bollinger Grand Année Brut” in the other one, arrange a party of your own with straight and honest talk as a basis.
