Scrape. Scrape. Rumble. Scrape.
Martin staggers in. He’s in pajamas. He looks frazzled.
“Jane, ” he says. “It’s 3am. What are you doing?”
“I’m moving pieces of paper labeled ‘table’, ‘chair’, ‘washing machine’, and ‘industrial elephant!'”
Martin hesitates. He looks at the floor. Jane shuffles the pieces of paper around. They’re square. They have labels. They have pictures, too. The pictures are crude. One could easily mistake the industrial elephant for a retail buffalo. But Jane’s lack of perspective drawing skills is not what surprises him.
“Why is it making so much noise?” he finally says.
She looks down. She tries not to giggle.