Ms. Tittle was a small woman. So small she had once been mistaken for a Halloween decoration by little Billy Dodge until she moved, which startled him so badly he fell from the porch and crushed her forget-me-nots. The poor boy swore off trick or treating forever and spent the rest his years safely locked away behind a stout oak door on All Hallows Eve.
Sitting in her chair on the porch next to a metal Tv tray, (which she has used as a table ever since the television went on the blink), upon which rested a cheap plastic vase filled with green foam and dust covered plastic flowers, a pitcher of lemonade and her favorite cup. One of those big Tupperware cups, (her friend Mildred swore wasn’t available any more so she had best never lose this one), she did what she did every afternoon when the weather was favorable which was to think of as many things as she could which she was convinced no one else had ever thought of before the moment they popped into her head.
“Everyone lives in their own little universe”, she thought, “and they clump together like grapes on a vine because they are attracted to others who universes are similar. After all, no one wants to think they are alone in their beliefs and so they cling to one another out of desperation; oh, and the occasional brunch, of course.”