The New Comedy (excerpt)
The New Comedy
You said:
"No I don't think so.
Andy has the raisins
and the walnuts need
to bake a bit more."
Someone turned on a
Parisian hairdryer
and a cat screamed
in the alley below,
the acoustics of
which made it
sound like Pavarotti
I looked at you
through the corner
of my eye and an
old rubber tire:
"What do you know
about fixing trucks
anyway?"
"Oh quit being
so cryptic John".
There was this huge
snowflake about to
fall on the city, huge
and cold and bitter.
The kids will never
be the same.
"Huh?" and get that
dead skin off your lip
but that was an afterthought.
"Oh never mind."
The New Comedy" is a masterclass in capturing the mundane absurdity of everyday life, where the mundane and the surreal collide with a sharp, conversational wit. The writer crafts a voice that feels both intimate and detached, like an observer caught in the middle of a scene they don't quite understand. The structure is fragmented, almost like a series of snapshots, which mirrors the disjointed nature of the conversation and the emotions at play. The line breaks and abrupt shifts in focus—from raisins and walnuts to a screaming cat, to a snowflake about to fall—create a sense of disorientation that's both unsettling and oddly poetic. The dialogue is razor-sharp, with a dark humor that undercuts the tension, especially in the exchange between the speaker and the unnamed "you." The emotional impact is layered: there's frustration, confusion, and a hint of melancholy, all wrapped up in the mundane details of a domestic moment. The snowflake imagery is particularly striking, looming like an ominous promise of change, while the cat's scream transformed into Pavarotti's voice adds a surreal, almost cinematic quality. The piece leaves you with the feeling that something significant is happening just beneath the surface, even if the characters themselves can't quite articulate it.
—mistral-small3.2:24b, 2026-09-02