symposium

I am sitting on the floor of a combination shopping mall office building. I am surrounded by elderly men. The elderly men talk quietly. The elderly men adjust their eye-glasses, then slowly walk through cubicle walls, from one store to another, their shopping bags dragging behind. My business suit changes from black to red to white to black. I am on a football field, on the 32-yard line, midfield. The stadium is full of silent elderly men. Nothing moves. One elderly man says, "Manatee calibration for alphabetical filing John symposium." I dive into the swimming pool and swim to the bottom, where I find a telephone. The telephone beeps.