"How are you finding it?"
Malcolm leaned back, crinkling, letting his arm rest along the back of the couch, a studied half-inch away from Rhonda's shoulders. His breath fogged the inside of his wrapping as he considered the question.
"I'm not sure I can answer," he said. "It doesn't matter whether it's good or bad. It's really the only tolerable option. I was - we all are - falling to bits, constantly, endlessly. I couldn't stand it anymore. Now I'm safely sealed up. no more loss. No more worries."
"Plastics," said Rhonda faintly, not meeting any of their gazes, "are the future."
Unbranching Personal Narratives
52 minutes ago