Evidence
For the second time in three days, I’m eating a butter cookie at a café on 2nd Avenue. Last time, it was after work; this time, it’s before work. Something as neutral, rich and tiny as a butter cookie works at all hours.
I’m splitting the cookie into pieces and eating them slowly when, without warning, a montage of raw ingredients morphing into cookie dough morphing into cookie enters my head. Moments of untriggered awe usually happen when you’re stoned, but I am not; I still have to go to work in twenty minutes. The cookie presently returns to normal and the rest of it tastes especially good.
-Molly
