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The computer is osmosing his wife. Nearly akin to one of those sci-fi movies where it's a portal into an alternate universe. One you dematerialize to enter. She doesn't want to be interrupted. Holds up a hand like a traffic cop if he speaks. Plays checkers online with strangers. Bids on useless eBay items, gets into chats about food, fashion, the various and nuanced ways in which water is wet. Even porn one night, when he walked in. "Christ, will you look at thatů" Told him to quit snooping. Then: "Hey, you feelin' frisky?" Her head switching worlds with a nearly audible POP! Reentering their common one. Where gravity is thicker, and a single moon yellows everything. Where the flowers on their bedsheets are in bloom; fragrant and familiar. The air, fit to breathe again without a suit.

Story by:

Robert Scotellaro

24 February 2014