Kip sat himself down in an uncomfortable chair at the end of what he felt was a pompously long table; the type that was setup so as to mimic the feeling of being in the nosebleed section.

Seated at the other end of the table, approximately seven kilometers away, were four people, stacked so closely together they resembled Mount Rushmore, save for the fact that one of them was a black woman. She stuck out like a sore thumb. Or rather, like a thumb sore from being struck multiple times with a hammer.

Kip thought about what it would be like to hit her in the face with a hammer.

He smiled again. Somewhere off in Space, his mother nodded approvingly.