Charts and optimal dates and preferential temperatures. One line or two. As if she could summon whatever it is that makes up the human soul as easily as she could a cab on a busy New York avenue.
She faced the window.
Her eyes saw infinite explication.
Her math books only examined the probability of tangibility. What of transcendence?
Yellow streaks formed cabs.
An anxious, veneer hand waved.
If it were a finite equation, the curves that lined the hand and body to the point of the nose would be defined by x and y. There would be no question of why two and two is four....
The cocoa swallowed the nutmeg's taste.
The heat rolled into the vents.
The hot chocolate she drank would taste no different to the student three seats over sipping the same.
As if she could banish the specter of truncated possibility; knock it back like some pill taken for the after effects. One cycle or two? Suck it up, spit it out, let it bleed. Expiation.