“I just feel like I have so many ideas but no way to channel them, so they’re useless, even though they’re awesome. Like gunpowder without a gun.”

“George?”

“Oh, hi, Callie. Yes. It’s like, everyday I think of a new situation. Or, it just comes to me, I don’t actually think of it. And sometimes they’re tedious, but sometimes they’re really interesting, and I have no idea what to do with it.”

“…”

“You know?”

“Not really. Are you…are you talking to someone else?”

“No. You.”

“Oh. You caught me off guard.”

“I apologize. But anyway, back to the point, it’s like I don’t know what to do with them all. For instance, just today I thought of two interesting things: one is empty ice trays, and one is playing guitar with a papercutted fingers.”

“Ouch.”

“I know. Painful, right? Aren’t those great images? Subtle, everyday, yet they start to tell a story. They suggest a story. Meaning, little instances that are indicative of something greater. My problem is, I just can’t think of something greater.”

“Greater than ice cube trays?”

“Yes. Who’s doing it? An annoying roommate? A lazy bachelor? A faltering marriage? A couple with differing ideas of ice cube maintenance? Eh?”

“It’s nice to see you too, George. How’ve you been?”

“Other than the current predicament, fine.”

“You mean the gunpowder thing?”

“Yes. I knew you’d understand. Also a good image, yeah? But nowhere to put it in. No greater context in which to give it meaning.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Eh? How’s Peter?”

“Philip? He’s…you know. He’s fine.”

“Good living situation, Callie?”

“Actually, I go by Callista now…a little more professional…but yes, we have a place out in Willsboro. A duplex, I believe it’s called.”

“Ah. Glad to hear it. Are you here for a book?”

“Um—no, just…just browsing. I had a few minutes before class tonight.”

“Mm-hm, mm-hm. So, does Peter fill the ice cube trays? Tell me, would you have married him if he didn’t? Just kidding, you don’t have to answer that.”

“George, I…are you all right? Where are you living now?”

“Oh, you know. Not a duplex, whatever that is. More like an, ah, an apartment.”

“Oh—oops, I uh, I have to go...”.

“Mm-hm, mm-hm.”

“Um, well, it was good to run into you, George...”

“Yeah well, I come here occasionally, to find a place for my ideas, you know, so if
you ever want to do it again.”

“Okay. Well, good night, George. Take care.”

“Yeah, yeah. You too, Callie.”