Today, Trona’s goblin monarchy is hosting a little shindig. It's not quite a banquet, but you wouldn’t call it a gala, either. ⁣
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To your knowledge, there’s an election on the horizon. The monarch has run uncontested, for certain, and it is illegal for goblins to cast ballots, of course, yet the thrill of civic participation washes over you. ⁣

To your left is a forty-minute line for uncooked cocktail wieners. To your right, a perfectly spherical goblin cradles his perfectly spherical gut. And everywhere you look there are big white tents shading an endless troth of meats spanning from here to the horizon. ⁣

Goblins circle around vats and trays and buffets of fish balls, pureed tadpoles, skewered nuggets, curried rats and boiled newts. Behind you, frenzied visitors heap on hefty scoops of congealed toad gravies, synthesized scallops and gelatinized crustaceans onto their tragically small plates, which you did not yourself remember to bring.⁣
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You make extended eye contact with a goblin baby swimming in the punch bowl in front of you. Eyes locked, you watch, helplessly, as he gurgles up yet-to-be-digested lizard intestines back into the bowl. ⁣
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It is a great day to be a Citizen.