Thousand: Four Hundred Fifty-Seven

morning feeling pretty good and got up and zapped a muffin, spread some butter on it, sat down at the little white table in the corner of his kitchen, and gazed out over the board fence into his neighbor’s garden, the red of the peppers, the red and yellow of the tomatoes among all the green, and picked the crusty top of the muffin into small pieces, he was puzzled that he had been up half the night agonizing over something. Something he could no longer remember. Wasn’t that supposed to worry him even more? That whatever it was that