Oil rainbows shimmered and plastic wrappers floated on the wasted pond by Harmony’s apartment. An olive-green beanie shielded her from the breeze as she stood at the weedy bank, strumming a lazy chord on her ukulele.
She turned to a cyclist who’d stopped near her. “You’d join me tomorrow, right? To clean this pond?”
Shut up, he told himself, albeit to no avail.
Zaivar slouched into his favorite diner booth, trying to keep his thoughts muted. This was an unwelcome challenge for someone used to reading other people’s minds. The waitress approached, and before he even registered it was happening, he thought, Her perfume is like being punched
Spark’s reflection multiplied infinitely in the high-tech museum’s mirror maze. Each image wore the same chartreuse blazer and metallic pants he’d chosen specifically to stand out at the exhibition. Now he wished he’d worn something less conspicuous. Being the center of attention
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