After looking inside the bags he removed all the items from the cabinets again. Maybe remove the cabinets themselves, he thought.
The beetles must’ve come in through a hole in the screen. They were curious, he thought, what was that noise they made together, a kind of muttering.
They didn’t know how the finger got into the can, but they were pretty goddamned prompt about removing it.
After 10PM all orders must be put through the slot. First you will need to sign the personal injury waiver.
He’d been told the problem wasn’t uncommon. But in total isolation all he could do was sprinkle the dust around and hope the situation improved.
At the end of the day he gently placed the twitching canvas bag on the desk. Then he untied the top and went quickly to the elevator.
Inside the bank vault was a tiny compartment full of shavings. It was absolutely vital to deliver these to the exterminator before any irreparable damage.
He had seventeen minutes to make the transfer–past the portcullis, tiger traps, the AI drones, and the Cinnabon stand.
He heard the sewing machine late at night and all he could imagine was her building wings.
It did not come from space–it came from an abandoned gas station in Jersey. No one could understand what it wanted.
Every inch of floor, he noticed, was covered with mismatched glasses partially full of the greenish swamp water.
Every morning the bright red ball was a little closer to the house.
There was a painting underneath the painting of the painting–sandwiched between layers of vermilion, saffron, mummy brown, virgin blood, were delicious, hidden universal secrets.
The couple upstairs whispered all the time. It seemed obvious to her that they hated one another.
Piles of paper lined the room, the desk and blocked the windows. All the same edition of the same newspaper.