We sit at four in the afternoon trying to figure out an application for applied science.

I wonder briefly if there is an application for applied silence.

I ache terribly at the touch of your hand on my knee, moving like a spider.

I know you know that I hate it.

I think you do it just to bait me, just to see if you can find the same reaction you did when you…

I want you to know I hate it when you hit me.

I speculate that passersby on the street will wonder why I am wearing a turtleneck.

I imagine they will think me crazy.

I turn the thought over in my mind, like a hamburger on a grill.

I flip it once, just so I am positive it loses none of its flavor or contents.

I smirk.

Thoughts with botulism.