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by M.T. Anderson

You need the noise of your friends, in space.

I wanted to buy some things but I didn’t know what they were.

When we were eating dinner, sitting on her bed side by side, she said to me, “This is fun.” “It weirdly is,” I said. “Maybe these are our salad days.” “Huh?” “You know. Happy.” “What’s happy about a salad?” She shrugged. “Ranch,” she said.

She said she had a theory that everything was better if you delayed it. She had this whole thing about self-control, okay, and the importance of self-control.

I just hope my kids don’t live to see the last days. The things burning and people living in cellars. Violet. The only thing worse than the thought it may all come tumbling down is the thought that we may go on like this forever.