“Secularist.” [pronounced Yenta voice] “What is that? What does that even mean, sectionalist?” “No, not sectionalist, mom. Secularist. Sec-U-LAR-ist. It’s like being Switzerland when the rest of the world is at war. The rest of the world can go right on fighting each other over religion. I’m neutral.” “Uh huh. My son, the Swiss sectionalist.” Why I answered the phone after just having finished...

Benson stared at the can of Coca Cola offered to him for what must have seemed like hours to the arresting officers.  And as he observed the condensation drip off the aluminum, he couldn’t help but imagine the beads of his own sweat dripping from his undercarriage – the room they put him in was that hot.  Now, reaching for any further form of mental distraction, Benson associated the offered soda...

“Your coffee is growing a layer of frost.” This was a new one. This one he’d never heard before. Did their morning ritual really need spicing, he wondered? Regardless, he didn’t make a move. His extra few moments staring out the upstairs bay window were not to be tampered with. These were his earned moments of the semi-depression that accompanies forced absolution, and no one was cajoling them...

These seats were undoubtedly nicer than the ones on yesterday’s flight in, she thought. Plushier. She specifically liked the color scheme and the way the seat bucket enveloped her aching lower back. Even the redolence of this exact pleather produced a more tasteful impression than most first-class cabins, and she had flown her fair share over the last decade. Private travel would come next, but...