Red was in a fury.  He discussed the issue with Black and White.  The room moved with heated debate.  As usual, Black and White disagreed.  White went over and leaned against the wall, looking no less beautiful than sun rays through the slats of a Venetian blind.  She knew this — without White these guys wouldn’t even exist.  But Black was in a mood.  He and Red sat in a corner, silent as a game of checkers.  Then Yellow flew into the room like the soft giddy bird she could sometimes be.  Yellow in pale comparison stood beside White.  Neither said a word.

Red and Black noticed the women and forgot their own solemnity.  Red went straight over to Yellow and, let me tell you, it was like watching a flame ignite, orange, hot, liquid, Red, Yellow, fire.  And when Black grabbed hold of White it was as thick and grey as smoke in there.  The two couples stayed that way for a while, swaying, fire and smoke, fire and smoke.  Yellow soon broke away, flighty as ever, and went over to Black, buzzing like a bee.  White took this in stride and began to dance with Red, who flushed a deep pink.  Black brooded.  He just couldn’t take these guys in.  He was the hole, the absence.  Black imagined himself the last Beatnik.

The room took on a hazy glow — hot and soft, pastel, and then bold and primary.  If Blue hadn’t cut into the place at that moment, so cool, humming those old blues, the tragedy might never have happened.  But Blue couldn’t help himself.  He was like water on the driest, hottest day, like the sky after a storm.  And he loved the girls, he really did.  First over to Yellow, cutting in and making the guys turn green with envy. Then he flowed so smooth over to White and whispered: the sky’s the limit, baby.

Red, whose fury to begin with had to do with this very dude, this very cool dude, Blue, flew at him in a purple rage.  Yellow tried to break it up but only made an ugly mess.  White talked at them, softened the blows, but it did no good.  Black had to jump in and make it all crazy and bleak.  The women pulled one way, the men the other.  It was like a Jackson Pollack nightmare.  And then it ended, a piece of everyone everywhere, and all dried up.