Paris

Reason and Nuance walked into a bar. Well, it was a café, actually. But how many sick jokes start with anyone walking into a café?

It was the morning of Saturday, 14^th November 2015. Somewhere on the  19th arrondissement. Reason took a deep breath and muttered to Nuance, “Tough shift today, mate.”

Nuance nodded grimly. “We coulda really done with Perspective on this one.”
“Quite, the poor fucker got the English job, though,” replied Reason. Nuance shuddered. “Poor bastard. And I thought we’d got a shit gig, today!”

As they moved toward the bar, the patrons therein stared in amazement.

Pitchfork, working himself furiously over a signed photograph of Marine Le Pen, paused in his ministrations and was first to react. “You two have a got fucking nerve showing yourselves around here, today!”

Reason responded reasonably. “Au contraire, mon ami. My good friend Nuance and I are needed today more than ever.

Racism, sipping a freshly-ground coffee in the corner – white, natch – shouted, “Just fuck off! There’s nothing for you wankers here!”

Hatred nearly turned over the table at which he was sitting, in his haste to join Racism’s chorus of denigration. “Go on, piss off! No one wants to hear your bullshit!”

Islamophobia had just returned from the toilet. He’d declined to wash his hands and was, on sight of Reason and Nuance, momentarily distracted from his bacon baguette. He smiled cruelly. Triumphant and approaching tumescence. “Told you so, didn’t I? Seal the borders, let ‘em drown, nuke the filth!” he crowed.

Pitchfork, reassured now the back-up was functioning as it should, returned to his photograph and the polishing of his tines. Fast approaching release.

At that moment Bigotry stepped in through the door. His eyes widened in anger as he saw Reason and Nuance. “The fucking nerve! In here, condoning…”

Nuance interrupted. “Woah, fuck’s sake, mate! No one’s condoning anything but…”

“Always a ‘but’ with you fuckers, isn’t there?” retorted Bigotry.

Reason muttered sadly to himself, “Always a ‘who?’ always a ‘where?’ always a ‘when.’ But never a ‘why?’

The noise was becoming unbearable. The shouting, the hysteria, the anger smothered everything.

Nuance turned to Reason and asked, “Why do we always get drowned out?”

Reason replied, sadly: “plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.”

Le sigh.