I was hanging around with a group of friends, hoping one of them would give me a lift home; seems no app can overcome this subconscious weakness after a lifetime of unreliable transportation. Really, however, I was waiting on my love interest to return and give me the opportunity to end the night with her in the driver’s seat. In the meantime, I was preoccupied producing crumpled currency from my mouth, like that gag with the eggs, surprisingly dry and pocketed each wad for as long as they came. A ten-dollar bill I had found earlier was left in a bowl of dirty plumbing water, ordinarily a questionable place for paper with any intention of reuse, but I presumed it could be dried; when I retrieved it, the ink ran and the color was reduced to an almost transparent outline. (Reminded me of the counterfeit plot at the beginning of the 살인자의 쇼핑목록 drama I’ve been watching; it’s no Koo—then again, neither was the finale of Killing Eve—but there’s a bevy of cuties including AOA alumnus Seolhyun.) Inside the bathroom the door opened and there she was… my wife, hair tied back and makeup-less, sorrow in her large eyes that she was delayed by being invited to the Beatles concert, which I then realized was the reasonable explanation that had eluded me. In my self-absorbed distress, I had failed to appreciate her.
Leave a Reply