I was grabbing a beer or a soda or whatever and saw a black flash out of the corner of my eye. It was a fly. He landed on the light bulb at the top. I waved my hand at him, to get him to fly out, but he just flew around inside the fridge, not coming out.
“Come on out there, buddy,” I said, waving my hand around some more. Dawn, from the living room, asked me what I was doing, so I explained.
“You’re talking to the fly?” she asked.
Well, of course I was talking to him, I told her. It’s a fly. He can’t read my mind.