Another in a long string of conversations I never thought I'd have.

"I can't stop pulling weeds."

"I think you should. It's late. You look…you know, tired. And dirty."

"I'm actually disappointed that I can't find any more weeds. I might have a problem."

"Wow. I've never seen anyone so--um, what are you doing?"

"What? I was , you know, picking up some stuff."

"You were pulling a weed, weren't you."

"I… I know. (Sneeze.) I'll stop now. (Sneeze.) "Wait. Okay, now. (Sneeze.)"

"Wow, allergies?"

"I'm pretty sure I'm allergic to whatever it is I'm pulling." (Sneeze.)

"You do have a problem."

"It's just—the weeds! They grow so fast!"

"I don't know, if it's green, I just figure it looks like grass, so—"

(uncomfortable silence)

"That was one I noticed before. I had to pull it."

"Alice. I think it's time to go inside."


P.S.: New Wonderland up today, about religion. Because I like to tackle the big topics.