An old man wanders into their path. He looks respectable except for dazed eyes and two different colored sneakers, one without laces. The young trio—two men and a woman—alter their stride to go around. The old man glances after them then looks up at the sky, waiting for the storm to return.
"I think you should go up to that guy and tell him, 'We will bury you,'" says the woman. She is walking between the two men. The one on her left breaks off and comes around behind, putting his arm around the other man and giving him a kiss on the cheek.
"Did he just whisper something in your ear?" The woman is indignant.
"Yes, he said, 'We will bury her.'"
The woman throws up her hands. "I can't believe it. I can't believe you guys want to bury me."
"I didn't say that. I just gave him a kiss on the cheek." He does it again. A passing jogger gives them a startled look and a wide berth.
They walk in silence for a few moments. The men return to their flanking positions.
"I bet he didn't really say it," says the woman.
"Kruschev. I bet he didn't really say, 'We will bury you."
"It was in the news," says the man on the right.
The woman scoffs. "That doesn't mean anything."
"Okay, maybe he said it, but it was probably just taken out of context. He probably whispered it or something." To prove her point, the woman whispers the last sentence.
"He yelled it. And he banged his shoe," recalls the man on the right.
The woman doesn't seem to hear. "You know what? He was probably sitting out by the pool. He was sitting out by the pool when he said it—"
"Whispered it," the man on the left reminds her.
"—When he whispered it. In context."
"It was at the United Nations." The man on the right is certain of this.
"Yeah, it would have to have been at the United Nations. I don't think they had pools in the Soviet Union, did they?"
The men shrug.
The woman nods, dismissing Kruschev as a solved problem. "He said it while he was out by the pool. He was reading a comic book."
The man on the left, who also reads comic books, says nothing. He is distracted by a billboard advertising a new kind of disposable razor.
The man on the right opens his mouth to argue.
Behind them, the old man smiles as the first drops of rain pepper the ground.