A pair of married mimes stood outside my front door ready to make eye contact. They were from the neighborhood. Good people with silent smiles. “How long have you been out here?” I asked, opening the door. One had a clock around her neck the size of a steering wheel. She didn’t answer me. The other clipped invisible flowers with his fingers. “You could have just knocked,” I said. They both laughed quietly like swallowing bees. I handed the husband his wallet that I had found in our cul-de-sac during last Wednesday’s snowstorm. They were grateful for this deed. I could tell by the way their eyes rained. It pained me to watch them walk away holding hands, pointing at the moon like it knew what to say.
Benjamin Niespodziany has had work published in Fairy Tale Review, Hobart, Paper Darts, and various others. He works in a library in Chicago and runs the multimedia art blog [neonpajamas].