She handed him what he thought was a pack of cigarettes. Inside all he found were desiccated spiders.
Susan kicked a pile of snow over the exposed leg. “In spring it’ll be a surprise for someone, think of it that way. By then the Arabs will have fixed everything.”
Rain speckled the windshield. They changed out of jumpsuits and into formal wear as efficiently as they could.
“The cold, rational approach has been vilified–but if we’re going to save ourselves, passion is the last thing we should accept,” she said.
Blinky was told to make a rye and water, but he surreptitiously delivered a kōan that produced instant enlightenment.
“Men in power are dangerous,” she said, “their world view is built on violent penetration.”
They drove up to the estate, their car dented and smoking. They set their watches forward one hour. Cleaning the roof would have to wait.
“Mathematically speaking,” she said, “it’s better to ask for permission than to ask for forgiveness.”
The nearby crows wouldn’t shut up. The cawing matched the relentless rhythm of their own senseless argument.
It was impossible to unzip the bag with all that hair tangled in the teeth.
She claimed the frequent trips to the quarry had nothing to do with the orphans. Rocky soil collected on the floor of the vehicle.
The broken down detective arrived at the swamp grumbling, a bottle of bourbon in one hand, a megaphone in the other.
The light behind the gas station flickered, menacingly. He said the bathroom was back here, but all you see are discarded exam gloves and angry iguanas.
She handed him a hot cup of coffee and a sweater made from their hair.
Shouting was close behind the truck, cardboard cutouts were knocked down willy-nilly, she said nothing would ever be the same again.