fragment #2

"It's like I can hear her typos." Tim said, leaning back in his chair. "Like I can hear she can't tell the difference between the two 'your's---you know, 'you are' and the other one, the possessive."

"No one can when you're talking," Jo said. "They're homophones."

"You're a homophone," Tim said.

"Don't be an idiot," Jo said.

"I'm totally serious though. I know I can't actually hear the difference, but there's something in the way she talks. Like, she obviously wouldn't write grammatically."

"Does she speak grammatically?" Jo asked.

"I'm telling you," Tim leaned forward suddenly, slamming down the two front feet of his chair, "I can tell it from the way she talks---I can hear that she would confuse her 'to's."

"Like, too, to, and two?" Jo asked.

"I can tell she would confuse them," Tim said, growing emphatic, "And don't even get me started on her 'there's."

"You're crazy," Jo said, and, after a pause, added, "and you're probably trying to sabotage this whole thing with her."

"Why?" Tim said, "Why would I? I want it to work. I want to be with somebody."

"But not with Leigh."

"Yes with Leigh!"

"Not if you're imagining typos when she talks," Jo said.

"Well, why not? What does it mean, the typos?"

"It means you don't think she's smart enough for you." Jo said this looking down into her coffee, blowing on it, waiting for it to cool.

"Well why does it matter if she's smart enough?" Tim leaned back in his chair again. "Why can't she just be her?"

Jo snorted. "Good question," she said.

They sipped their coffee for a while in silence.

Fragment #1

The day she ran over the cat on purpose, her kitchen caught fire. She had studied Philosophy in college. She knew what a post hoc fallacy was. It didn't change the feeling that the fire was some sort of retribution. She didn't really believe in God, or, didn't believe that he cared what she did to cats with her car, anyway. She had to keep from rolling her eyes whenever that friend mentioned karma. It still felt like someone had been watching her, and that that someone had wanted to let her know. Maybe it was Santa Claus. You better watch out! she sang to herself. It was December, and he was everywhere, white and red, like scarring. That was the only reason she had done it, really; Christmas has a way of getting you down.

She remembered the beginning of Moby Dick. It was the only part of it she could remember, since it was the only part of it she had managed to read. She didn't have the option of going to sea, but she did feel like knocking people's hats off. But people didn't wear hats you could knock off anymore. Maybe that was her problem. Maybe that's why she took it out on house pets: no top hats. If she came across any carolers dressed in period costume, though --- well, she and cats weren't the only ones who better watch out.