There is a coliseum: massive, pristine, horrible. Festivals are held there -- fights too, and cocktail hours and conferences and movie premiers and horse races and cotillions. It is always being used for something.

People admire the coliseum. They say things like It’s a wonderful place to watch a fight or My daughter went to the most wonderful cotillion there or I saw the most wonderful film at the coliseum the other day. When people say these things others always nod, though everybody already knows how wonderful the place is so are never listening too carefully. Yes they’ll reply, Yes it is wonderful.

One man in the city doesn’t care for the coliseum. It’s stuffy he says. And filthy. Whenever he says this the others always squint their eyes and shake their heads. No no it isn’t a bit stuffy or I’ve always found it impeccably clean. The man accepts these rebukes publicly, but privately goes on condemning the place.

One day a grand festival is held at the coliseum and everybody in the city attends. They all enjoy themselves, even the man. That wasn’t so bad, he thinks to himself as he rides the bus home. In fact I think I rather enjoyed that.

When the man gets home he chastises himself for ever having said those awful things about the coliseum.