Smoke Screens: The Other Signals

I'm behind the front desk, going through the paystubs as she's leaving. Ostensibly, I'm getting mine. In fact, I crave contact without having any plan for what comes next.

I take out one of hers. She says, "I can haz moar?" The whole "I can haz cheezburger" thing is a sad, feeble, workplace joke between us.

I say, "I can't find any more. But you can haz cheezburger." Because it makes the words to fill up the not-talking.

She waits a long moment, then says, "I do like cheezburger."

I say goodbye, and she leaves for whatever she's doing after work.


Later that night, my brain woke me up and reamed me out.