Cut from what I'm working on now

            “There’s really no hope for any of us, is there,” asked Edwin with a shoulder heave. “We’re just living in a mall.” He looked up at Sloane with a bemused self-pity. “My kids, they’re good people. And these kids—” he gestured to the floor above them. “They seem like good people, too. But it doesn’t matter any more.” He shook his head despondently. “What’s frottage?”

            “Will you two do me a favor?” Sloane asked, ignoring the question by getting to her feet. “Would you two agree to get really drunk with me tonight?”

            “At your service,” said David, sweeping his hand across his belly.
            “I’ll get a head start,” said Edwin, lifting up an imaginary glass.

            “The world might be ending, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have fun, right?”

            “In-sou-ci-ant,” said Edwin, drawing the word out. “Like all the kids.”

            Sloane coaxed her hair into a disheveled bun. “And frottage, Edwin,” she said, twisting the stray pieces into place, “is the sexualized rubbing of two people’s body sections. My husband just publicly endorsed such aforementioned rubbing against the inner thigh.”

            “Tough week,” said David, with a grin.

            “Learn something every day,” whistled Edwin.

            “And while we’re at it,” Sloane continued, “the aspirational lawn care thing? It isn’t actually bullshit. People are going to be painting instead of watering their lawns. Because of water shortages. So, you know, Poppy,” she shrugged. “She might be on our side.”

            “I find you pretty benevolent for a person with a meme,” countered David.

            She parted her lips to retaliate something clever, but then she saw apparent seriousness in his eyes. These two people, or at least this one person, appeared to think that Sloane was in possession of a decent soul. And she thought the same thing about them. The world was a despicable, hopeless place until it wasn’t. There were still some reasons to rejoice. The smell of charcoals heating in a barbecue. Birthday candle light swaying with the force of an exhale. It was impossible, to be run through with this deep will to survive. To not just survive, but to enjoy one’s time on the planet. To forgive, forget, to fall in and out of love. So much beauty bookmarked by such fathomless stupidity. It could make you go insane weighing whether or not to give up.

            Sloane took her leave of the two gentlemen to go and ready her slideshow on the interpersonal applications of convenient things.