Three Boys

Three boys sat scattered around an iron table.

They talked among themselves, but it was all theatre. An intermission. Certainly a pleasant one, though.

They laughed at each other's jokes, but each knew the thought lurking in the back of their heads.

Above all, time is finite. Running out. You can see it in them if you look closely; one glances at his watch, the others look at a clock on the wall.

The more time that passes, the more they become restless. Finally, one says, "We should go."

Back to the real world, then.