Spruce opened the jar of clover honey, drizzled it on whole wheat toast and took a bite. It's sweet crunch completely satisfying. The sun tea was just about ready. A few more moments and it could be served. It gleamed in it's pitcher like amber in the light. There was herb goat cheese and figs. Nice red wine. Joints rolled with a little sage and lavender mixed in... Everything was perfect, even the grass was an iconic jeweled green. Clifford sitting Indian style across from him looking through a copy of The Sun Spruce picked up for him at the grocery store. Sometimes Clifford liked to make art with tabloids. He would scrutinize the images before he decided to use them. His latest piece was a steel basin with images of Lindsay Lohan mod podged to the outside and a hot pink vibrator running on the inside. The whole thing hooked to a microphone that was hooked up to an effects box that slowed down the sound of the vibration on tin too something minimal and ethereal. The altered recordings played in an empty white room on the other side of the gallery. Conceptually it was Spruces piece from start to finish. Cliff just physically made it, adding his own visual flare. Spruce didn't mind. Cliff and he were partners through and through. What benefited Cliff benefited him. Spruce was the brains of the operation, Clifford was the action. Sometimes the roles switched but ultimately they completed each other.
The tea was ready.
Spruce poured Cliff a glass. Lit one of the joints, inhaled, it's perfume wafting through the park. All of his muscles gave way. He lays back and melts into the grass. "Right now everything really is perfect" he thought.
