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.
Thoughts with botulism.