my bed.

you made your bed and now you have to lie in it, she tells me over the phone. it's like the bed is hell, or something.

my bed is a warm pillow i sink into, i say.

we'll see, she says, like her psychic eyes can see the hell that my bed will become. but, she doesn't believe in psychics. she believes in hell. and she believes that beds like mine eventually all go up in flame.