hciwdansPosted: February 5, 2009
“You’re not exactly how I want you,” she said, droll and mundane.
“What?” It asks. The room is silent, save for the rumbles of a refrigerator.
“You’re not exactly how I want you,” she restated, eyes unwavering.
It grows silent. The hum persists.
“God dammit. I asked for no mayo. You, my friend, are not exactly how I want you,” she shouts to the room, filled only with the rumbles of a refrigerator that has a bag of trash resting next to it.