Jackie keeps a little bit of fog in a jar on her kitchen shelf, and she watches it swirl around from time to time.
How she captured it in there, I don't know, but I'm sure it wants out from the way it lashes against the glass.
“Don't let it go,” she says. “It brings me good luck in here.”
She's never burned anything in the oven, nor has any of her pots ever boiled over.
Without even trying, her pasta is perfect.
Still, I watch the fog, and wonder if it is suffering.
Oh well. It's time for dinner.
