The soup is hot. She replaces the open air above the vase with a glove. It looks more like an oven mitt, but in name and intention it is a glove, the man who made it for her called it that. He is bad at making gloves, but good at making oven mitts. Too bad he does not believe in ambiguous hand wear. She looks down at the glove and wishes it were invisible, so that she could see down to the steam getting all bunched up on its self. She wondered if it steamed enough, and she held closed tight enough, it could explode. She wished a lot of things would explode. And she wished a lot of things were invisible too. But then again wind is invisible, and it is still terrible.
Guest number three is a man. He thinks about how it is possible that he will never remember the thought that he is thinking right now. And finds it sad but freeing and thinks about all of the thoughts that he has forgotten. He notes that imaging such a thing is incredible. And then thinks that because he has put so much time and effort into this thought, he will probably not forget it. He thinks that with every thought he increases his likely hood of remembering. Even his thought now about his own thought. And this thought now, about his last thought, about his own thought. From there he becomes very busy adding thoughts in the hope of remembering.
The third guest is very aware of, if nothing else, his awareness. He is kind of dumb.
The Fourth guest is most things, a girl. And beautiful.