Bellies

by Nicola Dinan

They’ve spent years nodding along to Tom’s Fisher-Price socialism, but stop short whenever Tom mentions a wealth tax. Yes, tax the millionaires. No, not our kind of millionaire. Not the accidental property millionaire! They’ll be the first to bury their cordless Dyson in the back garden when the class war erupts and the purges begin.

The joke’s not even funny, but there is a collective yearning to shift the mood. The shakes in our ribs are enough to connect the empty spaces between the chairs and across the table.