Tangles

The bus ride is always difficult. Today, my choice was between the blob-like woman whose thigh filled the adjacent seat or the rather squirrelly bespectacled man. I decided I’d rather have my own seat.

“It’s important,” the man told me. “To keep the ends. You can’t get a tangle or a knot, long as you keep hold of the ends. I’ve got ‘em. The beginning and the end. No tangles.”

“In your power cables?”

He gave me a startled glance. “No,” he said. “Universe.” He held out his hand, and inside a jar I saw the stars flare and fade…