Jigsaw–puzzle craze, 1932; yo–yocraze, 1928, were nothing compared with the Everybody Do Everything Craze that blew this town to smithereens and glued it back again. Men everywhere slapped paint on anything that stood still ten seconds; men everywhere climbed steeples straddled fences, fell off roofs and ladders by the hundreds. Women painted cupboards, closets; kids painted toys, wagons, kites. All towns, everywhere, the same, where people had forgotten how to waggle their jaws, make their own talk. I tell you, men were moving in mindless circles, dazed, until their wives shoved a brush in their hand and pointed them towards the nearest unpainted wall!’

'Looks like you finished the job,’ said Willy.

‘Paint stores ran out of paint three times the first week.’ Antonelli surveyed the town with pride. ‘The painting could only last so long, of course, unless you start painting hedges spraying grass blades one by one. Now that the attics and cellars are cleaned out, too, our fire is seeping off into, well—women canning fruit again, making tomato pickles, raspberry, strawberry preserves. Basement shelves are loaded. Big church doings, too. Organized bowling, box socials, beer busts. Music shop sold five hundred ukuleles, two hundred twelve steel guitars, four hundred sixty ocarinas and kazoos in four weeks. I’m studying trombone. Mac, there, the flute. Band concerts Thursday and Sunday nights. Hand–crank ice–cream machines? Bert Tyson’s sold two hundred last week alone. Twenty–eight days, ‘Willy, twenty–eight days.’

‘Willy Bersinger and Samuel Fitts sat there, trying to imagine and feel the shock, the crushing blow.

‘Twenty–eight days, the barber–shop jammed with men, getting shaved twice a day so they can sit and stare at customers like they might say something,’ said Antonelli, shaving Willy now. ‘Once, remember, before TV, barbers were supposed to be great talkers. Well, this month it took us one whole week to warm up, get the rust out. No quality, but our quantity is ferocious. When you came in you heard the commotion. Oh, it’ll simmer down when we get used to the great Oblivion…’