“You know, the word “Predictably” really cheapens the word “Terrific.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, I’ve said what I said and you know what I mean”

He slammed the torn box onto the table, stood up and grabbed his coat.
The coat that’s seen too many winters and too little of the washer.
The coat that smelled like smoke, the bar, like him.
She hated that coat.

“I guess I don’t know what you mean then.”
“I don’t think you ever did.”
She couldn’t meet his stare.
The door slammed and shook through the small one room apartment.

Stunned.
She picked up the box and stared at it, through it.
A million thoughts, going a million directions spread through her head and behind her eyes.
The present didn’t matter anymore.
No real reason to keep it.
Just another momento.
Another relic.
A future fossil.

The box hit the wall.
Tissue paper and cardboard.
Scattered.
Ruined.
Garbage.

“Predictably terrific…”