Livin' with it.

After changing into a cardigan and black pants -- the usual -- he got into his car and drove the ten miles up the pike to the shopping center, where Type&Co. called their abode, though he was ultimately disheartened by what he saw. Like two days ago, and the day before, yet another team member with one finger up her nostril stood by laughing at a customer's one-liner while she scrubbed her nose with a fingernail. Lenny swung on a heel and returned to his car with a tremulous uncertainty looming over him. The white-out...

The white-out failed to undo the reality change. The line he had written was no longer visible -- but reality was still moving along, as it had been when it was.

It continued, un-reversed.

What did this suggest? That text did not need to be visible to be integrated into the world? That, perhaps, there was text that he could not see already spanning the pages? Suddenly, Lenny felt even more at odds with himself for coming across this mystical compilation of paper. He warily checked his mirrors before starting his engine and warming up the car.

Still, he wasn't done yet.

For the next two hours, he conducted some scruffy research, electing to look into the 'naked flash mob' mishap from two days ago. Lenny went around, asking a few potential bystanders curt questions. Most of the available witnesses turned out to be employees, workers in stores, a handful having been on their break at the time when it happened. They had watched it unfold from behind their windows, even. Were just cleaning the floor, even. Was in the middle of a game of Candy Crush when suddenly, jiggling tits, flopping penile regions, even. One such account proved particularly productive.

He explained to Lenny how he had been waiting for his girlfriend, on a lunch, when he spotted her exiting her car from the slice of the parking lot across from the store. She was halfway down the pavement, only for her to throw off her long-sleeved blouse. The next minute, her bra and panties -- and in less time than you can say "BOOOOBS!", she was joined by equally undressed individuals, of all shapes, ages, creeds, and colors. All of them kicking up legs, wigging their hips, to a shower of big band music which blared across the plaza. It didn't take long for his co-workers to scramble over, and eventually, their cashier-less shoppers, to catch the unadulterated view.

After some convincing, he gave in and provided the aforementioned girlfriend's contact info. Way he put it: he himself had never been aware of his romantic partner's affiliations with this so called flash mob group -- supposedly, she was just not a good dancer. Then along came last Wednesday.

He said they hadn't gotten a chance to sit down and talk yet. Part of him was still not sure where to even start, were they to.

"My own girl just got naked in front of hundreds of people, and I'm just sitting here thinking, what am I supposed to say? 'Awesome job'? 'You really knocked that one out the park'? 'Oh, so that's how you look outside without clothes!'" The twenty-something clerk's face emerged from his hands, no less disheveled. "...I've never dated an exhibitionist before. Fuck!"

Looking up at Lenny, he adopted a tentative look. "You promise to keep us anonymous for your column, right? What paper was it again?"

Back in his car, Lenny looked the girl's name over on his phone.

RYANNE MICKS

A string of numbers stretched over the space underneath.

After an interim of even breathing, he tucked his phone back into his pocket, shoving it all the way down.