I mean. I wanna dunk cats in water, too. But I gotta work on my spoopy strength I guess.

What’re y’all’s ghosts like? Just—life street or whatever?

[as she speaks she begins concentrating...before long the edges of her form begin to soften, like ink that’s gotten wet. When she places her hand on his wrist, it’s like a chocolate bar taken from a pocket—like hair gel taken from the fridge, chilly, tyrian-tinted ectoplasm unhurriedly oozing against his hand]