and suddenly all that seemed so far away, her eyes overtaken by all new bodies, anatomies resisting the urge to move in unison—no, they say, i drift and drive in a way that is not your way.
the room holds a couple dozen round and perfectly similar tables. announcements made but unmade in the clatter make her attempt to remember the last time she attended a basement dance party. but no, that is done; there are new soundtracks to be made. too bad the first sounds seem so orchestrated.
and, then, that day on the green comes rushing back. he exists as a signpost, a lamppost really. the scene of the crime is more memorable than the crime itself. it took only a push and look to commit.
but, back to the present, because this is an adult’s life, and it won’t wait. and now she is eating, filling that chair and describing herself in less than 100 words.
but a greedy bite of mashed potatoes goes horribly wrong. with a slip and a grind, severed. the tip of the plastic swimming around, white in white.
