Tue, 29 September

THE LITURGY OF THE KITCHEN BENCH Let the towels be entered as evidence. Let the dice fall where they will. Let the gavel — a spoon, oxblood-sleeved — sound once, and be believed. Fox: I only folded what needed folding. Dot: Objection — hers has the weaker case. Lou, from the dock, lifts one bandaged finger as if it were a verdict. Max, bailiff, keeps his silence. The court finds the evening guilty of nothing but itself, and adjourns for supper.