The events described in this story are fictional. The author makes no assertion about the lives or characters of the real people whose names and identities she has used in the writing of this story, and makes no money from it.

White Bread

White bread, mostly air. Dominic eats standing up, elbows on the counter. Crumbs drop into his magazine. Elijah watches him eat; first a bite from the left corner of the sandwich, then one from the right.

"You know that's borderline obsessive-compulsive?" Elijah's voice registers bright and clear in the still kitchen.

Dominic looks up, considers with his mouth full for three or four seconds, swallows, and smiles, the corners of his lips hooking upward on little wires. Sunlight puddles the floor and silvers the hair on his arms. He eats two more sandwiches and half a Twix. Elijah watches.