A little white bug walks across your screen.

Sashays.

You open your mouth a half inch, you glance at your reflection in the black bezel of your laptop.

Your expensive laptop.

You can’t help your self, your lip, your bottom lip, you scrape it with your top two teeth, and you check your front left incisor with your warm tongue just to see, and you can’t help yourself, and you clear your throat twice, once not really at all and the second time only quietly, and you then, slightly nervous, but you don’t know why, you say

“Hey bug watch your feet, that’s some hot prose you’re wa- sashaying across.”

And the little white bug stops, and you’re not sure if it’s because she heard you and she understood or because she got a waft of your breath, your chicken breath, your chicken broth breath, and you held that breath in your lungs, lungs full of breathy chicken broth, and you waited for a response, and you thought you heard a “hell yeah boy”, but you weren’t sure because

bugs have quiet little voices. And you’ve been up for a while.