Black stars, she said, must be invisible.
To us? I asked.
We can’t see them.
But we know they’re there.
I guess I don’t know what you mean by invisible.
This was a typical conversation. Intelligence overwhelmed by passive aggression.
Something completely ambiguous captured in a box. With a flag. With a bomb.
Stars, I said, aren’t there for our benefit. They’re just there, no matter what.
She shook her head and smiled. You’re wrong.
I crossed my arms.
She kept smiling.
A tiny explosion. A disagreement agreement.