Monday 5 September 2011

Coffee Jar

When they came it was without ceremony or melodrama. They didn't exactly sneak in the back door but they were sure to shut it quietly behind them. They whispered sweet nothings in our ears and then harsh truths and then tried to engage in constructive debate but by then it was, indeed, too late. Our pride was dented and we shut them out. They had pride in spades themselves but lacked the concept. About this at least, we felt good.

Their craft were industrial and non-descript. They sat in our streets unnoticed, invisible to most passers by like betting shops or libraries. Those few who did notice might give them a tap or a pat and be surprised by the unusual texture and pulsing warmth, but assume they were just a temporary structure for yet another building project or set of roadworks. Those who chanced on seeing one in flight were consigned to a life of anal probe jokes.

I was ITK, in the know, of course. My role was administrative. I dealt with low level bureacrats, efficient in opertion and civil in manner. They were hard to read as might be expected. They laughed constantly but it took a long while to work out whether this was what the sound denoted. It was unclear where the humour lay. Besides pride they lacked other concepts essential for human jokes. They seemed to suffer not schadenfreude. Personally I think they fed purely on the absurd. Perhaps that's why when they left they took only the office photocopier.

We laughed too but it was nervous laughter, often the case when the other party has a clear height advantage, and a tail. I couldn't really think of them as friends. They existed in the middle ground of colleagues or acquaintances, but not quite either. I was sad the day they took flight, I won't deny it, sad that I would never see them again. I take a crumb of comfort in the knowledge that they somewhere in the expanse of space and time they are out there amongst the stars. This they would find hilarious.

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