Thousand: Six Hundred Seventy-Four

version of events, whatever, that’s fine. A person can talk to herself. Sometimes the only person worth talking to, you know? She dips her finger into the satiny interior of the box again, waits for the tickle, then pokes her finger into the ceiling. She does this a few more times, and starts to think about other things. She burps and tastes tortilla chips and wishes she’d drunk more cola. Or not. She’s never been in a tornado. There was that time the bus smacked into a VW. If dogs had wings you’d have them following at your ears instead