age of two months or whenever, and then I decided to soufflé the necklace.
I used a mitt to pluck the soufflé out of the oven. I snipped the necklace string and pushed each bead into the soufflé with one finger until it was littered with green dots. I went into my bedroom and rummaged through my desk drawers to find the bracelet from a month ago, and I pushed the round red plastic into the center of the soufflé. Then I put it back in the oven for a while.
Of course the whole thing smelled terrible. It smelled so bad that I dumped it out the window. I used the rubber scraper, and the whole, waxy plastic fruit-cake-looking thing flopped out of the dish and down three flights onto the pavement of the alley below, wack and squish. I was going to drop the casserole dish along with it, but I thought I might need it again. Even Egyptians had dishes. So instead I retrieved the Mixmaster and held it straight out the window and let it go. I laughed, and it sounded plastic cheap when it hit the pavement. Egyptian pavement. Sand. Stone. Sand to grind flour. Tooth disease. Wheat and corn. The freaking Nile and the alleyway below. On the riverbank, the metal whisk attachments clanged and popped out, bouncing a couple times before coming to rest.
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