“Oh, it's a buffalo.”
“Bison.”
“Whatever. For a second I thought we
were going to have trouble.”
“He's a guest. I met him earlier,
he's very nice.”
“From what I've heard, their truce
with the cows is holding. But you never know. And they could join
either side. They're very unpredictable. I read that on wikipedia.”
“Could we not talk about the war?”
“It's just so frustrating being on
the sidelines. We're stuck here until the golfers decide what to do.”
“I don't understand why us sunbathers
are aligned with the golfers.”
“We're country clubbers. Of course we
would take our lead from the golfers.”
“I thought we were sunbathers.”
“No, we're... wait, are you talking
about forming a splinter group?”
“Maybe I am. Because if this is about
identity, I see myself as a sunbather.”
“Well, I don't. I'm a true country
clubber. Anyway, I don't see how it would work out. You're going to
have a problem with the bikini girls.”
“Nonsense, they're perfect allies.
Along with the surfers, and the beach bums—we could form a powerful
faction! I think I'm going to call a meeting.”
“Wait, where are you going? I just
ordered drinks! Damn it. I knew I should have dated a banker.”
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