“What should I say?”
Calvin walked to the center of the dome and stood on the brass circle, looking out towards the marble busts, finding Shakespeare’s profile: the bald forehead, the long sack-like hair. The roguish beard.
“Guacamole,” Calvin said, letting the word reflect back. The sound echoed along the rows of marble heads, like laughter. The guide clapped, nodding, his applause overtaking the echoes of the word. A light flashed against the white of Shakespeare’s eyes, and for a second it really did seem like the sculpted heads were laughing.