Wednesday, February 29, 2012



“…there is no solution,” he said.
“But what happened?!” she asked.
“The toaster. It’s a piece of crap.”
“But why did you buy it?”
“I was not going to pay big money for a toaster.”
“But now it’s broken.”
“Yes, it is dear, thank you for pointing that out so eloquently. I think the flames coming out of it clearly show it is indeed broken.”
“But what are you going to do?
“Well, throw it in the garbage would be a good guess.”
“But can’t you try to fix it?”
He lit up a cigarette.
“The thing is, once the bread ignites, that’s pretty much it, dear.”
“But…” she started. Yes, she did start that sentence, that as many other sentences, with a piercing but that drove him over the edge.
In a motion he simply couldn’t remember later on when the police asked him what had happened, the toaster went from the kitchen counter to a somewhat undefined direction which coincidentally happened to be where his wife was standing.
He could remember one thing though. He could remember her eyes filled with surprise, her body attempting to stagger away and her mouth letting out a horrified “But…”

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