When Sally burped, it smelled like guts and tasted of peanut butter. Sitting on the train day after day, she became more unaware of her surroundings. It was as though some defense mechanism was saving her from the smartly dressed masses that shared her daily ritual. She never really put it into explicit thought as the days turned into weeks and then months. There was one person she did always notice, and this was due to a blend of the smells of warm cookies and “Aunt” Michael.
Sally’s Aunt Peggy loved to dance the Brazilian tango on both sides of any belief, and duality was her natural state of being. Now, being a strict Catholic and married to a gay man, Aunt Peggy was driven by the reality of the situation and her own goals: she’d married Michael due to her belief it was God’s plan for her to have gobs of blue-eyed children, and God, being all-knowing, was well aware of her hatred for men and, logically, must be perfectly fine with it, since the children would be raised Catholic with none of that tiresome fire and brimstone bunk that drove the Almighty to drink.