Where have you been?
Oh, I’ve been here.
But why so quiet?
I don’t want to talk about it.
About what?
I’ve fallen into a deep funk. Run out of pretty things to say.? The Monarchs fluttering and Goldeneye blossoms waving in the wind have lost their luster. And I just sit here looking around and shake my head.
About what?
You don’t want me to talk about it.
No, I do. Talk about it.
A courtroom in black and white. Spencer Tracy shouts at the courtroom and to the presiding judge:
Soon your honor, with banners flying and with drums beating we’ll be marching backward (backward!) through the glorious ages of that sixteenth century when bigots burned the man who dared be enlightened with an intelligence of the human mind.
Oh. I see.