I waited, kicking my feet. By the time Myra was ready, I was worn out. Zombies all around: those insects, for instance,
whose corpses eat some paint off the car hood when I flick them away. About half the time, I do that false start when I'm in
the straight lane and the left turn arrow turns green. Even while the voice on the telephone changed me life, I felt the chigger
bites on my ankle itch.
Myra can sing along with “California Dreaming” or “It’s My Party,” but she couldn’t tell you the words if the song wasn’t playing. My appendix is a negative of my little toe; but now that we can get DNA patterns from any cell, I don’t need my appendix any more. White holes spit out matter; they’re the creative matrixes of the universe. Dandelions, though, have been found on no other astronomical body.
I don’t even know what color that is. I guess it’s a color. We were listening to the weather on the radio, and then the power went out, so we sat and listened to the wind.