She woke to a new world without gravity. Your weight doesn’t matter, she was told. But she didn’t get it. My bras don’t fit, she complained.

Then the shit hit the fan. And everything became vile and the resident Dude said, Epic. A career was thwarted prematurely. And one was made.

He picked up the ax and sighed. The tree was rotten from the inside. He had grown up with the thing. It had been a friend. And then he swung.

I miss the sound of white noise. Of waking to TV static, a constant electric waterfall. The lack of programming. The confidence that implied.