Fly

I keep the thermostat turned way down; it’s cold. Reading the Internet isn’t like reading a book. I can always use the wait between one electronic page and the next to rub my hands together, breathe into my fists.

A fly bumbles into the glass on the front of my computer monitor, falls onto the desk. It rights itself, but still doesn’t seem quite right. I absent-mindedly drop a bottle cap over it and go back to reading the headlines: Gov’t, Rebels to Sign. Heart Scares Hit. Tsunami Toll Jumps. Artie Shaw Dies. Crude Oil Surges.

Several hours go by. I find myself staring at the bottle cap – a gold twist-off – with increasing frequency. It hasn’t moved. Finally, curiosity gets the better of me and I pick it up. There’s the fly, rubbing its forelegs together. I quickly replace the cap.

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