Anolie hears the clock in the hall ticking. She pauses to listen to the clock ticking. She thinks about the tick tick tick of the ticking clock in the hall ticking as other clocks might tick, may have ticked, she thinks she can recall; the clock continues to tick like it has for as long as she could remember, if she were to think about remembering such things, but no . . .
She imagines she wants more coffee and thus imagines that she should think she wants more coffee. She then thinks she should get up to make another cup of coffee, sitting as she is, hearing the clock in the hall ticking still, imagining getting up and making the coffee she is pretty sure at the moment that she wants. She will make another cup. She does not make a pot. She has an espresso machine. She always makes one cup at a time.
She hears the machine outside her apartment door that one of the men from maintenance uses to polish the floor, newly laid by workers the landlords hired to do the work. She decides she is going to get up to make another cup of coffee as she pauses to listen more intently to the machine in the hall outside her door drowning out the sound of the clock ticking as she assumes it must still be ticking. She catches herself tapping her fingers now on the table as she sips the last of a cup of coffee she must have just made.
She recalls reading something somewhere one time from a man who said that he knew the light in the refrigerator went out when he closed the door; he did not have climb inside to find out. Just as she did not have to see the ball she dropped outside her window fall to know it had fallen.
She does not usually live syllogistically.
The Falling Leaf Review 