Doorbells.
Quarters.
A crisp new twenty.
Elevator buttons.
That pen on the chain attached to the clipboard at your doctor's office.
Your doctor's office.
Buffet line tongs.
Mother's Day Brunch in the hotel ballroom.
Railings.
Doorknobs.
Sharing a taste.
Waterfalling from a friend's water bottle.
Sneeze guards.
Hot bars.
Restaurant plates.
Restaurant silverware.
Restaurant chairs.
Restaurant tables.
Restaurant menus.
No, I will think the same way I've always thought about restaurant menus.
Library books.
NO. NOT library books. I refuse to rethink library books.
Golf cart steering wheels.
Piano keys.
Light switches.
Thermostats.
Brooms.
A dealt deck of cards.
Rental cars.
Bus straps.
The cord you pull to tell the bus driver your stop is coming up.
Subway poles.
The work refrigerator where you store your lunch.
Copy machines.
Drawer handles.
Pencils.
The pencil sharpeners hung on the wall of every classroom.
First day of school handouts.
Keyboards.
Faucets.
The edge of the Pepsi can.
Birthday candles, or rather, what we do to lit ones.
Birthday cake.
Bowls of candy.
Halloween.
High-fives.
The five-second rule.
There is no more five second rule.
Warm hugs.
Hugs hello.
Hugs goodbye.
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