Matt Dovey

"For Christ's... no, not knitted booties. Chain-sandwiched-between-thick-leather booties. What in good hell's use would knitted booties be?"

I watch with hope as Ms. Figgle-DeBitt samples a slice of caramelized banana upside-down cake. She takes a nibble and seems pleased. She sweeps cybernetic fingers through the shock of gray hair that sits on the human half of her face, a gesture I've learned is contemplative. She takes a larger bite, chews, and grimaces. She spits it out into a trash can.

Yes, you're right. I can see how the ships look like the black skeletons of birds, burned and splayed across the sky. No, no, it makes sense. I just had to squint my eyes first to see it, that's all.