What if the lightening bugs are taking pictures of us? she asks.
We sit on the deck, watching the flicker and dance, until the beers are gone.
We have a movie in mind. Playing down at the local.
It’s an indie, so probably a love story full of snide remarks, she says.
Lazy from dinner, I’m thinking not.
What if the lightening bugs are making movies of us? I ask.
What if, whatever they’re making of us, they’re going to take and show Mark? she asks.
It’s Mark’s house, Mark’s beer, Mark’s grandmother’s dishes.
Hope he has popcorn, I say.
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