"It's forty degrees."
This was going to be a thing.
"Greg, recalculate please. That ray puts it..."
"No. I’m sure."
Susan hesitated, then frowned. He knew she hated fighting.
"We can't proceed until..."
Greg rolled his eyes, leaned over, and hit initiate.
Energy flowed. The air became colors, poems, raw concepts.
Susan's mind twisted with Greg's. Grusan was a hat and a goat, salt and pastrami, a shark and a seal. They were everywhere and nowhere.
A pop up chimed. Susan blinked. The apple was still there. They'd missed. Greg spat out a fish.