He took a sip of his whiskey in the dying light. The guests were bubblier than he liked but what could you do, it was the holidays. He stood from his leather chair. He felt lightheaded when he stood. He had only had one drink so far; maybe it was the onset of a cold.
“You don’t look so well, old chap,” a man said with exuberance.
He looked at the man, who seemed to look at him through a green bubble. His obese face stretched into a large smile as he laughed at him.
A shrill woman, dressed like a peacock, jeered at him as he crossed the room to the server at the other side. Shadows danced across it. Light from the setting sun glinted on the shiny objects on its surface; the dust illuminated.
He looked back at his guests; they all pointed and laughed at him. Where was his wife? Was she the mastermind behind this queer joke that seemed to be compelled on him? His hands lay flat on the surface of the server for support. There she was. She came out of the kitchen and gave him a covert smile; finally, she had won.

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