A man speaks to his friend on a hill overlooking a valley.

“Go down to the valley for a garden of earthly delights. The grapes grow in red, purple, and green in abundance on row upon row of vine. The heavens are remiss if there’s even a day without beautiful sunshine. The vines that grow here at vertiginous altitudes produce grapes smaller than a dime. Make it down there and – “

“It takes them decades to wrap their tendrils around that wire! For that green plume to fall like a tapestry.” A voice croaked nearby. “A roof gutter with cracks in its joints leaks a drop every second in a rainstorm, so like your plants will do all year! The grapes that grow here contain a sweetness titrated by conduits tempered with time! … All things inhabited by the impulses we call life have joie de vivre. A vine on a hill has a view of the horizon. Tell me, what view do yours?”

“Old man, your interjections never fail to astonish and amuse me. I am simply directing a friend to a fairer watering hole. Kindly butt out while I’m not finished speaking. As I was saying, the valley is the fairest land of them all…”