After I open the case, instead of chocolates that are shaped like seashells, each cube is filled with a person’s face. Zoom is like a last-minute gift basket people pick up from the gas station. Random items that are about to expire are placed in the basket, one of the best ways to get rid of bad quality goods is to put a big red silky bow on top and sell it to the desperate.
I wonder what does she smell like if I hug her real tight, probably a lemon buttermilk cake with icing on top. I wonder what does he taste like if I lick his neck, probably an Avocado citrus salad with a little too much acid. I droll while my finger lingers around their tiny faces.
Hello? I talk to the green light on my bright computer screen in the dark.
Do you want to switch? I feed you a scoop of my shaved ice.
No one answers.
Sticky cream drips on my hand.
Who’s the desperate?
Me.
I am the desperate.
