I take out my two nice Butterfly Ping-Pong paddles, hold one in each hand, and just hold them, so happy I could cry.
Of their own accord (or maybe it's a trick of the tears), the two paddles almost seem to be fluttering toward each other, their motion barely perceptible. If I stay to see it happen, I might be up all night, and in any case their eventual connection would be at this rate noiseless, not likely to wake anyone or put anyone to sleep.
Lost in thought and moonlight, thinking witchy not-witchy things like waves and particles, I stare between the butterflies at my file cabinet, one in the morning.
PHILOSOPHY, THEOLOGY, AND ETHICS, says the first drawer. Inside: empty egg cartons.
CEREAL, says the second. Inside: cereal. SFBG
Most Commented On
- Because when something - July 10, 2014
- If you would like to make - July 10, 2014
- Supermarket Chains & The 5 Cent Charge - July 10, 2014
- Why is it Campos allows - July 10, 2014
- AgeSong told Campos they - July 10, 2014
- I feel no sympathy for you - July 10, 2014
- economic - July 10, 2014
- What the hell are you - July 10, 2014
- Losing their hegemony - July 10, 2014
- Supervisor's Campos offer is - July 10, 2014