Everywhere the Rhinoscerene Persons Gather
Imagine a photomat with a tall, thin, fishing-pole-flexible
flagstick protruding from its roof into the once-happy-and-inviting sky,
bearing, yes, a flag—signaling to all persons of rhinoscerene quality that
there, whence the flag finds its grounding, is a place for them to gather.
“What is a
photomat?” asked Brenda, younger than the others.
“It’s a
relic of the seventies,” replied Mrs. Oatsmeal, laughing and smiling and not
looking anyone in the eye, but keeping her gaze on the waving, dipping and
bobbing purple flag in the distance. “A
tiny building where one would drop off camera film to be processed into
prints. Just thinking about one,
standing lonely but self-sufficient in the middle of the liquor store parking
lot, brings to mind images of long lines of people waiting to see the original Star Wars or thin people eating at
McDonald’s.”
As Brenda’s
eyebrows rose in amazement, old Roger grumbled, “I’d be far more interested in
finding out what ‘rhinoscerene’ means.”
“It means
you’ve got a big nose,” Mrs. Oatsmeal told him.
Old Roger
gaped, his emotional center (a photomat of a nodule, located in the empty
parking lot of his cerebellum) torn between indignation and fear.
The
middle-aged woman gestured at the crowd around them, all moving towards the
flag over the trees. “We’ve all got big
noses.”
Brenda
began her own protest, but quickly relented, admitting to herself that, before
her surgery, she had indeed had a big nose.
.
