The ticket line filtered slowly into the glass doors, growing louder and more boisterous by the minute. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. Voting wouldn’t do no ‘arm to ‘er. He and his friends (he had at least two per class, even in Trigonometry) would make their exits as quickly as possible. Then she came a few steps to meet him. The monster, Wild, when he visited my dungeon last night, told me, to add to my misery, that she occupied a cell near me.
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