He was lost in a davenport.
There were ornate mirrors.
And svelte perfection, abode in glass.
Despite the cashmere setting, he did not appear comfortable.
“How about the purple?”
He looked up, to find his friend exhibiting a double-breasted coat of worsted wool. The distinguished pair had already selected two suits, several shirts in varying shades, two pairs of shoes, and a dinner jacket at the treasury of a store on the New York avenue, that bore his wife’s name.
He shook his head.
Maxwell took a final glance, before returning the jacket to its crystal enclosure.
“I like the purple.”
An attendant joined their number, toting a decorative platter, replete with a lush variety of imported handkerchiefs for their perusal.
“These silks are magnificent.”
He accosted one in his grasp.
“Ben, you must feel this.”
Benjamin observed the aureate tray and its colorful revelry.
Maxwell attempted to brush the fabric against Benjamin’s face.
Though he continued.
“It is a transgression of nature to deny this material.”
“Max, come on! Stop!”
And then they recalled their surroundings.
And Maxwell was pleased.
And just as suddenly, he was filled with melancholy once more.
Maxwell turned toward the dapper attendant.
“Would you excuse us?”
The debonair gentleman took leave of the salon.
Benjamin’s eyes begun to well.
“I cry every night, Max.”
Maxwell attempted to find solace in the vibrant textiles, but was unsuccessful.
This time, he extended the silk in an outstretched hand.
And buried his face in indulgence.
“I know, Ben. I know.”
Implode. Part XVIII – DK