Cigarette smoke was seeping through an open window. He threw his belt across the room in a moment of rage. The buckle detached from it, cut through a fleshy-pink candlestick and chipped the wooden box containing her photos from Europe. They didn’t notice where it landed, being distracted by a surplus of spilled beer. He attempted to storm out but the lost buckle transformed itself into a necessary object in his mind. By the time he located it they had largely resolved the issue.
“It chipped the box,” she said.
“I’m sorry.”
“But it was only a very small chip.” (ms)
