She likes the caffeine shakes. It's not something you'd think unless it was 5:30am and you were on your third Red Bull but she decides she likes how unpredictable her fingers can be, how out of control her own limbs are when subjected to stimulants and a long term lack of REM cycle.

She holds her hands out, palms up, palms down, sideways and right up close to her eyes. And they still do it. She spreads her energy out to the tips, willing the nerves to stop the slight movements of her digits. And yet, they still twitch, back and forth, in tiny circles of their own volition.

This new lack of responsibility tastes a little bit like freedom and she wonders if they will do her a brief favor and write a quick note for her professor:

Dear Prof. Brown

Terribly sorry but we, the collective of our host's fingers, have momentarily taken control of ourselves and are no longer obeying orders. As such she will not be handing in her thesis in time. Apologies again - she'll complete it eventually. We're just in town for a bit of a laugh.

Except they wouldn't write her a note. She has a feeling they'd simply grab some vodka to splash in her Red Bull and light another cigarette, because damn it, they do look good in yellow and those dancing digits and her are well aware of it.

An hour later, when they do exactly that, she smiles and thinks, not my problem.