The three of them are in the kitchen, a small gathering, a limited gathering, intimate.
The Kellströms have chosen this over bugle-blaring fanfare farewell. Bring out the whole town to give Adair the sendoff she has earned, and deserved, the flower of aboriginal fertilizer, blessed.
Whiffs and wafting waverings of fragrance, or aroma– essences. Eau d’aboriginal parfum. Crumbling soil, raised to a boil, ring of bright possum leaving a plop,
Democratic contribution (not necessarily to Demonrats, or Repugnantcan’ts), to the shit hole of life, nothing holding it together, either.
Plop. Loam plop.
The Kellström manse is a big expanse, even unto NYC, where a paternal, or patronizing, or patriarchy patriarchical glance, is askance. Okay. The aboriginals must blow a solemn, sullen, (but not ill-mannered or ill-tempered) ,
Plat. Plat plot.
Spam of Human Affection 
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