Sugar

“How was your physics and philosophy class?” he asked, his eyes seeming to peer just over the top of his laptop like his neck didn’t exist.

She stopped where she stood, her bag still on her shoulder, her hand on her hip.

And then, she said, “I look at all the pictures when I go to museums, but only at the interesting pictures do I read the plaques. That class made me want to go to a museum right then, before it was even over, and read all the plaques.”

“That’s very specific,” he said. They both could here the surreptitious taps of his fingers on the keys of his keyboard.

She remained standing over him.

“Generally, that class makes me want to learn, but to be even more specific it makes me want to read all the plaques in the one room museum of the Sugarlands visitor center in North Carolina,” she said.

And then, she curled up her thin figure on the bed, and his eyes disappeared behind the laptop screen.