There are five people gathered around the open trunk of a car in my workplace parking lot. I can see them from my window. They're all fairly well-dressed, business casual types. I'd peg them as middle management. I don't think I know any of them, though even with my fancy new glasses I'd be hard pressed to identify facial features at this distance.
I can't make out what is in the boot (for our friends friend acquaintance in the UK) in question, but one of the people, who I'll call The Facilitator, keeps pointing at something in there and then gesturing to the others with a kind of open-handed "do you get it now?" movement.
They've been at this for at least five minutes now, and I can't for the life of me figure out what they're doing.
My first instinct is that The Facilitator is selling something. Some kind of homespun craft like bone knives or quilted bears. But nobody is buying.
And yet there they continue to stand.
Maybe they're really horrible bone knives with part of the creature whose bones are being used still attached. Not something you want to buy, but certainly worth gazing in horror at. I guess a quilted bear would inspire the same sort of response.
Hmm. Now one of the watchers is walking away and the entire group is staring at him as he leaves. Weird. I hope he didn't violate the trust of the group by abandoning their mystery trunk project in disgust. I know that sort of thing happens all the time. Now he'll likely end up duct taped to the flag pole at the building entrance with the word "TRAITOR" written on his chest in blood. Or lipstick. Probably lipstick. Poor guy.
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