The place was mopped. She was in bed with white noise on and the place was mopped. Her feet felt clean, like Jesus’s. There was nothing to get in the way of feeling good today.

She got up and toasted some toast in the machine. She liked it burnt a little. It was too early for her pill.

Outside the world was baring its teeth. It was supposed to be a bright, hot day, with a hazy morning. She would have to run the vacuum downstairs if she wanted to lie on the floor twice. Maybe even run the vacuum twice. Once in the morning. Once in the afternoon. Lying down feels better when you’ve done something to the floor.

There were no hard boiled eggs in the fridge, but there were two sausages. She didn’t feel like sausages. She ripped a flour tortilla in half and shredded the half slowly in her hands and ate the pieces methodically. They tasted like communion. She wished she had some grape juice.

A toast crumb crawled its way between her second toe and middle toe. Disgust clutched her by the neck and she was suddenly short of breath. She inhaled long and labored, like she was drowning, and backed herself against the countertop and grasped its ledge and dislodged the crumb and flicked it into the sink.

She tried to exhale but she couldn’t. You would think it would be the easiest thing, to let go of air, if your lungs are like balloons, but she couldn’t release any. She was doing this lately, holding all her air in until it stopped giving her oxygen.

She felt the skin on her face turn translucent. You could see her all the way to her bones. She felt the heat of her brain spread and grow like cartoon hands. They tugged at her hair from inside. Her mouth collapsed. She let go of the countertop and fell like a corkscrew to the floor, which was clean.

***

It still smelled like zero odor flea bomb in the car. You couldn’t really open the windows, though, not in this heat. You had to let the AC run and hope the cabin air filter would keep you from too much brain damage. He would never again let his friends’ dogs in the car.

Amelia wanted dogs once. Then she took the night job and there’s no way to put the dogs on a nights schedule. Dogs have to sleep all day in the daytime. At night, they must sleep all night. You can’t switch it up on them. It’s not natural.

He opened his lunch cooler and pulled out a sandwich and a hard boiled egg. He pulled his phone from his back pocket and remembered the days when you couldn’t sit on your phone or you’d for sure crack your screen and then he searched for places to have dinner after work because he liked showing up at home not really hungry. Hunger put him in a terrible mood. At least it did when Amelia was home. On her workdays, he could go hungry until dinner.

He found a place just before the highway, next to the place he got doughnuts every morning, and he made a mental note of the name. Then he searched “is bobby flay a douche bag?” It was the name on their saucepan at home. The one they boil their eggs in.

Before he could learn whether Bobby Flay was a douche bag he felt a presence casting a reflection on his hood. He looked up. There was a young woman in a robe and pajama bottoms and she had her phone out. She had its camera facing him and the day was so still you could hear the image capture sound. Hers was a click and a snap like a shutter opening and closing.

What the hell? he said to her. Not loud enough for her to hear, but she must have known something was said.

She ran away. She ran into the house across the street. She opened her door and ran inside and presumably locked the door behind her.

Once she was inside he honked his horn. If he’d been put on notice she’d be put on notice, too.

What had he done?

He stepped out of his car.

Was he parked where he shouldn’t be?

No sign of that. He’d been parked there every day since he started the porch remodel. No issues until today.

There was a ding ding and he saw his door was still open, so he reached inside and pressed his horn again. It bawled in the hot air and echoed. You don’t realize how still and silent a place is until you’ve honked in it.

He shut his car off and shut the door.

Not quite knowing what to do he decided what to do. He would knock. He would not beat or rap against her door, just knock. Politely knock and when she came to the door politely ask why his picture had been taken. And ask her to delete it.

And what did she think he’d done?

***

She kept several pristine beds of wildflowers in lieu of a lawn. It was like entering a meadow walking to her door. Sticks of fiery orange and soft white claws and purple eyelashes blinked and flickered beside him. Someplace magical awaited. Or he was in it already.

***

He stood at her door. Did nothing but stand there. He raised his hand to the door but did not even make a fist. He opened his mouth but did not say the words.

He looked at his phone.

Tomorrow maybe there’d be time for words.

Lunch was over.

He thought of calling Amelia but didn’t.

Lunch was over.

The haze was clearing and it was about to be bright and hot.

A breeze stroked the flowers’ stems and they shivered.

It was going to be another bright, hot, beautiful day.