Conversation was like one of those Rube Goldberg machines wherein a bird pecked a kernel of corn glued to a button, pressing the button which activated a diesel locomotive and sent it speeding down a hundred miles of polished track until it slammed into an atom bomb the explosion of which startled a mouse in New Zealand so that it dropped a crumb of blue cheese onto a scale and tipped the pans so that the empty pan rose and flipped a switch which jiggled a trip wire, unleashing a tiny hammer so that it swung down with just-sufficient force to crack the shell of a pistachio nut.
