“Are you….?” he asked. He wasn’t sure how to complete the sentence. “Am I what?” she returned, her voice assuming the tiniest edge or irri...ation. “Okay. Are you okay?” “Sure.” “Good,” he said. It was so hard to gauge what she was thinking. It was so hard to gauge what anyone was thinking. How do people do this? he remembered thinking, mere moments ago. She regarded him. “I’m fine. I really am.” The edge of irritation had gone away. “You’re not angry?” “No more than usual.” She allowed him a. The images flashed by, quicker and quicker, to the point of subliminality. The laughter sped too, and became a howl. A white screen, and silence. A grassed field greened the screen, with the distant blurred silhouettes of trees. In the foreground, a single flower grooved to the slow beat of the breeze, on which the camera zoomed. It morphed, through some rather backyard visual effects, into a simple logo. After panning out, it was clear the logo adorned a large canister of nerve-gas. Clear, in. More

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