“I hereby call this meeting to order!” cried Doyle, banging a large and imaginary gavel against the table. Bruce covered his ears and braced for impact, not entirely aware that the hammer which he had hallucinated into Doyle’s hand was not real.
Stu nodded sincerely at Doyle’s pronouncement, apparently satisfied that the meeting had, indeed, been called to order. Bruce uncovered his ears, cautiously, perhaps fearing another hammer swing.
We were seated around a table for the first official olilolo meeting of the year. Empty pie trays littered the scene, four or five deep in some places. Doyle attempted to sweep the mess aside, but the piles of rubbish toppled and scattered even further in every direction.