Can you guys read this and tell me if you think he likes me?
︎︎︎ Brittany Deitch
︎ Oct 19, 2026
So I basically woke up quickly in the morning before anyone could find out. And well I snuck to the kitchen, trying hard to be very silent. I took small bites of everything so as to not disrupt the image of what could be wrong. Nothing was wrong, nobody was eating anything. I frankly wasn’t. If I could eat little square blocks every day instead of a meal, I would. I had a roommate who threw up all day and after she was done throwing up, she’d write songs. Sometimes she responded to my internal monologue with boy advice.
“If you can ride the bull, you’ll be fine,” she told me. “It’s a lot of fun to ride the bull. But, I kissed the bull.” I was midair in laughter as suddenly, the technology became invented. Confirming my ravishing foreknowledge and telepathy, a gridded multi-dimensional chunk of sustenance appeared in front of me. Engraved in 2 pt font on its underside was its tagline: could be eaten every day instead of a meal. I felt touched. My roommate continued on her diatribe as I snapped a square tab from the hunk like okay, I’ll try to take your word for it. I maneuvered it with my tongue, playing around with it for a second. Then I stored it in the left deposit of my cheek. I was in a world of my own. My roommate retreated to the toilet and I placed the remaining 5D edible obsidian inside the refrigerator next to the frozen peas and mixed berries.
As I went to leave them, I noticed that the freezer foods were playing Structure Game with pointy icicle objects. A structure involved an experienced Structure Master to rearrange a fixture of objects to represent one being within the group, and the remaining novice players to guess which of them it was. When the frozen peas grew frustrated after a couple rounds, they refused to play any longer.
Mist fell from the fridge’s beautiful running light source. It filled my eyes, making them water. I imagined children shuffling out of class for a fire drill, in a perfectly straight, alphabetized line. I imagined my roommate hopping off her bull for long enough to give it a peck on the lips. Microsoft Paint words drew themselves cursively across the image of my mind’s eye.
Some people don’t exist captioned the children moving quickly but without fear.
Over top of the girl descending her cattle was the phrase I know that, stop telling me split into different text boxes at the comma break.
I know that was the girl in motion, while the bull stopped telling me. Their split apart retracted into a perpetually made image, summing up reality with permanence regardless of phrase or narrative, and therefore making it useless to ever attempt again—it had already been done. Life was compulsively explained.
There was no line after her, no wait. A sullen little breath drifted through the air. Everything speechless. In my head I'm smiling deliriously and walking down the street. I walk three or four blocks without noticing where I am, or if I’m going the right way. The phrase it’s good to not want him poofing out here and there. The words went exactly how you think. The original scene cross-dissolved back in with a smooth opacity shift and excellent keyframe setting, and took precedent again for no real reason (other than it being a scenario I had developed a strong attachment to). The fridge’s magnetic door clicked with stickiness, its light put out. My turn was near. I wrapped my legs around the underbelly of the beast and winced in anticipation. Then, we went everywhere together.
“If you can ride the bull, you’ll be fine,” she told me. “It’s a lot of fun to ride the bull. But, I kissed the bull.” I was midair in laughter as suddenly, the technology became invented. Confirming my ravishing foreknowledge and telepathy, a gridded multi-dimensional chunk of sustenance appeared in front of me. Engraved in 2 pt font on its underside was its tagline: could be eaten every day instead of a meal. I felt touched. My roommate continued on her diatribe as I snapped a square tab from the hunk like okay, I’ll try to take your word for it. I maneuvered it with my tongue, playing around with it for a second. Then I stored it in the left deposit of my cheek. I was in a world of my own. My roommate retreated to the toilet and I placed the remaining 5D edible obsidian inside the refrigerator next to the frozen peas and mixed berries.
As I went to leave them, I noticed that the freezer foods were playing Structure Game with pointy icicle objects. A structure involved an experienced Structure Master to rearrange a fixture of objects to represent one being within the group, and the remaining novice players to guess which of them it was. When the frozen peas grew frustrated after a couple rounds, they refused to play any longer.
Mist fell from the fridge’s beautiful running light source. It filled my eyes, making them water. I imagined children shuffling out of class for a fire drill, in a perfectly straight, alphabetized line. I imagined my roommate hopping off her bull for long enough to give it a peck on the lips. Microsoft Paint words drew themselves cursively across the image of my mind’s eye.
Some people don’t exist captioned the children moving quickly but without fear.
Over top of the girl descending her cattle was the phrase I know that, stop telling me split into different text boxes at the comma break.
I know that was the girl in motion, while the bull stopped telling me. Their split apart retracted into a perpetually made image, summing up reality with permanence regardless of phrase or narrative, and therefore making it useless to ever attempt again—it had already been done. Life was compulsively explained.
There was no line after her, no wait. A sullen little breath drifted through the air. Everything speechless. In my head I'm smiling deliriously and walking down the street. I walk three or four blocks without noticing where I am, or if I’m going the right way. The phrase it’s good to not want him poofing out here and there. The words went exactly how you think. The original scene cross-dissolved back in with a smooth opacity shift and excellent keyframe setting, and took precedent again for no real reason (other than it being a scenario I had developed a strong attachment to). The fridge’s magnetic door clicked with stickiness, its light put out. My turn was near. I wrapped my legs around the underbelly of the beast and winced in anticipation. Then, we went everywhere together.
Brittany Deitch co-hosts the Internet Is Dead Podcast and formerly wrote for Paste Magazine.