"I just wanted to stop and ask if your daddy was okay," she said out the window of a late model Ford Explorer.
The dog had just stopped to cop a squat. It whined a bit, also annoyed that our neighbor had taken this moment to pull over to the side of the road and ask about the family.
"He died," I said. "Just after Thanksgiving."
She pulled her robe tight against her chest with one hand. "I'm so sorry to hear that. Will you be doing anything?"
"We had a small funeral over the weekend."
The library has been bored lately. Right now, as we type this, we have Luca playing on Disney+ and wondering what it all means. Not Luca, it's a pretty standard coming of age Pixar monster. No, we are thinking about life, the universe, and everything as a pretty normal dude once said.
Over at the University of Southern Denmark in the country of Denmark, they found book that could kill people. Not some incendiary texts like Mein Kampf full of crazy stupid ideas of harm, but actual books with poison on them.
She poured the dark liquid from the pot to the cup. Tasted it. Bitter and broken in her mouth, cool but not cold as if she put a snake that wormed and pooled and bit. The coffee had been in the pot for a while.
She poured out the pot and ran the water. It ran brown and the faucet shuddered. She turned it off and back on, more shudder and no water.
