“Business,” she said. “Take a hit. Be somebody,” she said. Now I’m grinding my back teeth and biting my fingernails. Running every red light to the downtown. White knuckling it past the high tension towers to the engineer’s office, where I grab the city’s grid work and pull until this stops. Because my phone is tapped. This is a conspiracy of the highest level of secrecy. Things were better then, when we were grinding our back teeth. I wanted to light the last match. Take the last bridge, when we were grinding our back teeth. Grinding our back teeth. This time this may only be half psychosomatic, because I can smell it in your semantics. Like Aqua Velva. From thirty traffic lights away, something smells covered up. Now she says, “Try not to be so na ve. Take a hit. Grind your back teeth. Did you really think this was more, darling?” “It’s only business,” she said.