Last night Bernard faced the salad. He unwedged its bowl from the fridge and wept over crisp lettuces.

Then he dreamed of Beatrice whisking a vinaigrette while he erupted over football.

This morning he reread the note. You should take care of yourself now.

What did she mean? Not that?

3 Things About This Micro-fiction

1. My favorite salad is edamame succotash.
2. One of those stories that involved a lot of editing.
3. I like these open-ended fictions with the suggestion of one or more interpretations. I’m not even sure myself what’s occurred.