The Miller Low Life

“No,” she answered after a long pause. “It’s bad for you.”

“I’m aware…” I said, but still neither of her two arms made a move for the short cylindrical jar of sodium chloride. She just sat there, licking her lips, smacking on nothing, her eyebrows occasionally scrunching up as she read something supposedly interesting in the newspaper on her lap.

I took a look around the room. The walls were bold red and the clock kept staring at me.

“Where did you go today?” I asked.

“Nowhere. The mall, the park, the other park.”

“Oh! How was the other park?” The other park was my favorite park.

“It was fine, but I lost the dog again. Picked up a new one from the kiosk on the way home.”

“I thought he looked different,” I said, looking down at the Chihuahua at my feet, who had been staring fiercely at the clock the entire meal.

“Did you get a new clock?” I inquired, trying to avoid eye contact with it.

“It came with the dog.”

“Oh,” I said as I reached across the table and poured some salt on my newspaper.

“That’s bad for you,” said the clock.