They debate the speech, what will be told. They debate the recent rising and falling and what once was so tense is simple and clear. They chuckle at the unrealistic fantasy they fell for and privately hope to be able to draw away from it the hope, leaving behind the clouded naivety, as one strains the soggy and sour barley that skins over the gently frothing brew.
He pardons the offenders, they offer their daughters and he accepts with a clever wink. He mounts the pulpit, rubbing the powdered mash on his throat and face, flinging the excess onto the first three or four overjoyed rows. "Its not a 7th grade history test, you fucking morons." The crowd cheers.
"Its about helping out, costumer service, for the greater good, the economy... You guys like beer?"
The crowd is like that scene in the second or third matrix movie where they have a trip out sex rave in an underground cave. The important thing is many are sweaty and topless, while he talks they are attentive, and when they cheer they ungulate.
"These bunch of lovers, eyes so wide, brains left home, they just need to be clutched, even I need a good clutching now and then, you've been there too, come on."
The matrix ravers nod and sigh and put their shirts back on.
