Take it, it’s yours. It always was.

Mary asked, “What happens if I push the button?”

The man in the mesh-back hat unzipped a mouth filled with white tombstones and said, “You get a pizza. Whatever pizza you want most, Mary. It will show up here at your door in thirty minutes or less. For free.”

Mary looked back at Tom sitting on the couch watching football. Tom always wanted pepperoni and jalapenos. She hated fucking jalapenos. They gave him gas and all night long it was like laying next to a decaying corpse who would inevitably get up in the morning and leave. “Any pizza I want? How could you possibly know what I want?” she asked.

The man in the mesh-back hat laughed. “We know, Mary. Just take the box and push the button.”

“I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“It’s marketing, Mary. We want you to have the pizza. You want a pizza. Just take the box and push the button.” He said, pushing the box toward her.

Mary shied back. “What if I don’t like it? What if you’re wrong?”

“Give it to Thomas, or the dog, or throw it away. We don’t care. Freely given.” He said, pushing the box into her hands.

Mary took the box and opened it. Inside was a clean white button. It looked inviting. Pushing it would feel definitive and precise, yet it would give under her finger with a satisfying squish, like crushing a bloated tick with a thumb.

“Okay,” she said, “Thank you.”

The man in the mesh-back hat shook his head, “No, thank you, Mary. Thank you.”

BBnlyk3

 

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