Just sitting and waiting.
And suddenly a young monkey stands up, scratches his head, blows air into a paper bag and tosses it way up into the air. We sit and watch the graceful arch. It gets to TDC and begins to fall toward the blackness of the hole.
Four of the older monkeys leap into the air, catch the bag and begin to tear it open as they tumble and flutter into the hole. We watch, fixated as they light on a ledge just inside the rim. We stand to get a better view of the comotion.
The ledge is one of thousands that jut out from the smooth walls, spiralling down, down into the blackness.
And from the bag comes:
"I got fired" or "meet me in San Lo for lunch" or
"what's the pitch ratio of the second gear helix of a 935"
There's a moment of silence as the monkeys ponder. Two fly away and retake their seats. The two remaining on the ledge start to twist and invert the words, they reach into their own mouths and pull, glistening a mass of Scrabble tiles from deep inside. And begin to arrange their reply.
When they finish, they toss it into the air once more but it only falls further down, down.
Then again it is caught from falling further by a group of monkeys that were ascending from the depths. We at the meeting are fascinated by the sound, the screetches, the murmurs, the cocaphony below.
Over and over and over, it happens. 22,000, 23000 and again
The first monkey, the inflater. Unexpectedly leaps into the hole and at a horrible speed dives to gather his inquiry. He snatches it and roosts on a nearby ledge. He is hundreds of layers below and in the dank and dark he begins to examine it.
It is a jumbled mass, slick and spiked with video clips and dirty jokes, torque wrenches and rusty header pipes. His paws are cut and he is confused with the specticle and wisdom. He gazes deeply into it and gathers his thoughts. Another gazes over his shoulder and spits another opinion.
The slippery, glowing mass quietly falls from his grasp imparting to him all it had.
The monkey, tired and greasy, flaps his wings and begins to rise to the surface, pausing only a moment or two in his ascent to regurgitate on those parcels passing or parked that peak his vaguely ancient mind.
He retakes his seat as monkeys are diving and swooping all around.
And from the seat next to him another monkey says:
"welcome to the 914 club."
