The early morning sun shone through the portrait windows, heating the room though the light layer of frost on the trees outside betrayed the true coldness of the dawn. JaVale McGee relaxed in his divan, sipping some imported Kopi Luwak, and retorted. “I know that, Kenneth, but I really think that the best thing to do at this stage in the Ukrainian crisis is to sit back and let things play out. The USA is nearly running out of fingers to stick in pies, and any involvement would only inflame the situation.”
Kenneth Faried laughed as he prepared the morning’s bacon and eggs. “Says the guy who will stick his finger in any pie presented to him!”
“If you aren’t going to take this debate seriously by resorting to childish wordplay, than we can just forget about it. Sometimes I think you don’t take due care to keep yourself informed of the geopolitical happenings around our globe.”
Faried laughed again, but didn’t bother responding as he plated two generous portions of scrambled eggs and bacon. He brought them to the breakfast nook. “Breakfast is served, Java Bean.”
McGee smiled as he walked over, his lanky frame adorned with a kelly green bathrobe. He playfully tugged at the belt of Kenneth’s similar outfit as he walked past.
“Now, now, hands off you naughty boy! Eat up, we’ve got a game tonight.”
For a while there was nothing but the sounds of eating as Prokofiev’s 2nd symphony played in the background.
“We should invite Timofey over, I bet he would love to hear our complete collection of Prokofiev’s symphonies.” JaVale remarked as he poured yet more hot sauce on his eggs.
Faried scoffed. “Timofey? When he’s not getting drunk he’s getting drunk and high. Legalizing marijuana might be the right policy, but it certainly hasn’t done him any good. I doubt he has any appreciation for his country’s rich musical heritage.”
“What a shame. How could even the coldest-hearted man not find joy in these wonderful sounds?”
“Not as wonderful as the sounds you were making last night, Java Bean. You’re quite the squealer!”