Time slips and stretches and wrinkles just like us. 

 Sheila wondered which meme best summed up her existence. 

The professor veered from lecturing to proselytizing when the subject was a personal favorite.  

They waited for the day (that never came) when they would be the dealers with stacked decks and butchers with their thumbs on the scales.

 The list got longer and longer and longer. 

Was it pride, self-preservation, or party that spurred them on?

Good art, she believed, required a balance between being clear and leaving room for interpretation.