Refracted Neurons

It was two days on from the longest night, morning glistening  in street lamps, puddles reflecting multiple moons, glistening feathers pinned back in predatory symmetry, the metal of a pole. And because the out-of- place is my kind of awe, we stared at each other unblinking, like the time a church was being razed and a sole stained glass remained sparkling  above the tumbling dust, or when someone who never heard of you sang out your name like the light it is, trickling like sun across  the back of my neck. ************************** I was walking to the bus the other day when I saw something odd on a street sign. I’ve never had fantastic night vision, so even though it looked like an owl, I figured it was probably a piece of wood. As I walked by it, I rubbernecked like an old man watching a young woman in hot pants. If it was wood, it was wood with feathers growing out of it. Now remember, this is the c...

It was an office, not unlike any of the other offices around the city.  It had a kitchen with a door.  And on that door was a memo typed entirely in Comic Sans font.  “Terrible,” mumbled Vera.  She peeled the memo off the door, the paper tearing around the taped corners. A hand reached for the doorknob, then paused, “Do you have to do that like that?”  It was Lynn, and he was scowling, “At least peel the tape first so you don’t leave these dismembered corners.” He was the last person Vera wanted to catch her tearing down office correspondence.  Not only was Lynn a manager, not only was his resting expression one of perpetual disapproval, but he also made her feel as if she had eaten an entire bag of chocolate-covered coffee beans.  Her nerves buzzed, her mind sang nonsense, and guilt slapped each of her cheeks with splotches.  “But did you see the font,” Vera held up the paper, hoping her hand didn’t tremble, “What does this font say to y...