It started on my hands, but I gave it no mind since I’d always had sensitivities. Food, dander, dust—people. They gave me the hives. Especially women. You could ignore men. Even act like they didn’t exist. Females were a different species, though. If you didn’t breathe, think, feel women, you had a condition.

“So,” he says, moping his nostril rims with a tissue, “what’s your interest in the frog?”

Mrs. Watkins checks her hat in the mirror. A mauve cap with glued-on feathers in a darker shade, and a veil that doesn’t clear the tip of her nose—perfect. It says grief, but not too much. She checks her invitation from HelloAgain. It’s her first outing since Jim’s death six weeks ago.

The baby was loud and stupid, and a baby. River didn’t know what to do. He’d never had a baby before. One day he looked in the toilet and there it was.

The geek I call “grocery boy” at Kroger is named Daniel.
No one nicknamed him or if they did it was Mars or Pluto
or Too-Smart-For-His-Own-Good.