Thousand: Seven Hundred Ninety

the button she’s pushing the cat’s nose, numbers appearing as pupils in the googly white eyes. She’s turned the sound off, otherwise she would be listening to its jaunty chimes and encouraging ejaculations like, “You’re the cat’s meow!” and “Polly want a cracker, just kidding, I mean, catting!” The girl feels like she’s on a movie set. If she kicked real hard her foot would go right through these stone walls, their age painted on sculpted foam over plywood. She glances up to the shadows just inside the entrance where the line terminates. The glint of a camera lens? Where’s