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Dialectical Monologues

I see a woman attacked by some goon in a parking lot. I move to intercede. There are some friends who will help me, for surely goodness and mercy shall follow us.

Bystanders from the balconies across the bordering hedge call out,

Hey, down there, hold on a minute.

What possibly might the trouble be?

Can’t you see he will kill her if we don’t stop him?

One of them yells out to us.

This is a typical domestic dispute  What’s the exit pattern here? How long shall this go on? Do you mean to provide long-term counseling? What about living arrangements in the meanwhile? Will you furnish separate housing? How about the lawyers? You are being very unclear as to objectives, motives, manner, and dress.

No, you say. I just want the slaughter to stop. You are all dispassionately retreating into your patented dialectical monologues. Meanwhile, we’ll take the knife from him; that’s first up. We stride forward.

Who’s in charge down there? Is it you? And aren’t you the one who’s always meddling? And aren’t you the one who always buys drinks for that lug and others like him?

This is very complicated, we say among ourselves, the rescue party. The simpler it seems, the more complex it becomes. Like physics, says one of us. Oh, well, let’s go ahead.

The Lug speaks.

Wait a minute! You do realize we’re only a parable?

Oh, yeah. I can usually spot them in movies and novels. Sometimes we’re confused in the real world.

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Smalltown Texan, Blackland Prairie, a senior. Sometimes I have trouble keeping up. Married, with Rottie/Pit. Reading, and some writing, that's me.