Joseph sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. A woman in a nightgown stood at the window, silhouetted by the silver moon. The air around her seemed to shimmer. “Can’t sleep, honey?” Joseph asked. He groped around for his glasses.

“Hmmph?” his wife mumbled, in bed next to him.

Greg Schwartz works in a cubicle and occasionally writes haiku, short fiction, and novelty slogans.