Jessica blew on the tassel of her cap three times.
I wish it would rain.
She noticed a crease on her red gown, so tended to it. The same velvety textures subsumed the landscaped lawn of the outdoor stadium.
I wish I could crawl down a rabbit hole, where everything makes cents, make a bunch of illogical lessons with insanity as the cipher, then watch the sane people try to correct me.
On a bench full of senior students any and every which way, part of her envied how public schools killed Commencement ceremonies, overrated as they were. She daydreamed of a couch and twenty-first-century television on Retroflix, lamenting the lack of a skip option. Not only could she not fast-forward, but there was no popcorn.