There aren’t really flies here, doesn’t get warm enough, but there are moths aplenty. They remind me of summers past. It’s why we would sit in the near-dark with the windows wide open. Ryan said, “The lights are what draw them in.” So we would play infinite rounds of Cards Against Humanity, empty plastic 2-liters lining the edge of the table with trace cider resin the bottom divots of the bottle, warping the florescent hues of dim, supplementary wall lights. Our faces were shadows and highlights. The sun would set, fade, and peak out again while hours unwound around us.

“It’s huge!” They say now, shaking this moth out of their shawls and the sleeves of their robes. It swirls to the window that way that moths do, and the wings patter against the glass as it tumbles to its escape. Maybe it’s the same moth, come to see me now that word’s gotten around. Flittering in my hair to tie me to another planet and confirm a portal to another space and time, even if only for the moment where I forget what year it is and what I’m doing.

That’s some Looper shit.