Things get kicked around.
A slab from someone’s pizza ends up where it shouldn’t be, causing alarm.
I thought it came from her. She said it was from “beyond.”
Either way we handled it with surgical gloves and metaphorical hazmat gear, erasing it into a shot glass lined with months-old coffee grinds.
It would have been wise to do but I never explained. It would have prevented weeks of manufactured agony, the kind you buy at dollar shops.
I became an independent seller of the stuff, finding success in novelty packaging and quantum distribution methods.
She remembers. Memories drift for years in her oceans, which are violent.
We never sailed.