I turn on him and threaten him with my whip. I get it from a drawer or cabinet nearby - a hefty black braided bullwhip, coiled with a fat knob at the end of the grip. I crack it a few times in the air. I walk to a corner of the portico overlooking trees and distant hills.
Stars appear in the sky.
He is inspired, speaking abstractions and wisdom. I sit down next to a very attractive darkhaired girl in a sweater and dark plaid skirt, and ask her what is going on. As she tries to explain, she may enjoy that I have put my right arm around her and have slipped my left hand under her skirt. Then I am again listening to the old man, kneeling with my elbows on the back of the couch.