Seven Minutes of Heaven with Margie, determined by a spinning 7-Up, an odd turn at “Indie Junior Non-Prom”, the Youngbloods’ cabin.  She had taken his hand, bypassing the coat closet, straight out into the darkening cornfield.

“Sorry about your mom and Roger.”

“Yeah.  Rough.”

“Sorry.”

She wasn’t pretty.  But her nose and upside-down smile were perfect.  Maybe it was all pattern recognition.  She touched his hand again, but her cell’s buzzing startled them both.  If he Google-Earthed them, right now, there would be velvety softness, deceptively corrugated, from continental ridges to crumbly furrowed fields to the fray of her corduroys.

—J. Michael Kilby

Michael Kilby is a Professor of Medicine, Division Chief, and AIDS researcher. He has a morbid addiction to stamp-collecting, movie matinees, and rock bands incorporating banjos.