The four conversants sat in the far right corner of the cafe, the mechanical whirring of the fan and the clinking of cups, paper and plastic, and the skidding of heeled-polymer upon the linoleum floor, the only sounds, save the occassional puff of a cigarette or cigar.
With a broad smile, La’Far broke the silence, gesturing towards Andy.
“Harmon tells me you’re a roofer.”
Andy’s face fell.
“Used to be. Just got fired this mornin. Along with Harmon.”
“Oh. Sorry to hear that.”
Andy wearily waved the man’s apology away.
“Ain’t your fault. Just… one thing after another. Ya know?”
“I know what you mean. Some times it seems as if the universe is arrayed against you.”
Harmon nodded, taking a sip of his coffee before speaking, “Often seems that way to many people. But that’s just narcissism. At this moment there are countless insects tearing each other to pieces. There are spider-wasp larvae gorging themselves on the innards of paralyzed tarantulas. There are chimpanzees cracking open the skulls of monkeys and sucking out their brains. Our own problems rather pale in comparison.
Marla looked on, fascinated, disgusted and horrified, Andy just raised a brow in perplexity, whilst La’Far gave a laugh and knocked the ash from his cigar in the large glass tray that lay in the middle of the circular and well-polished wooden table.