If Only I Could File Time
If only I could file time, conjectured Pilot smoothly, autonomously, inwardly. They sat down, volumnously with toes spread far apart, on each side of the chair, splaying ankles apart and hugging the chair like a saddle. Pilot sat bolt upright, engaging all his leg muscles. Perhaps I can, he thought, surreptitiously glancing at his dishwasher, even now displaying 1:41, causing him saved time.β¦














