“You know,” he begins, “being in this old house really reminds me of the olden times, and like, how romantic it is.” The audience looks back at him, their faces blank. “In the olden times it was so romantic,” he continues. “There were candles.” He looks at the candle in his hand as if it will help him understand what he means. “And you know,” he continues, “there were horses and buggies. And slaves.” Harriet and I look at each other. Slaves? Kim shakes her head in embarrassment. But no one in the audience seems bothered that The Composer has just called slavery romantic.
