Per 
There’s something about Tuesday mornings that make Researcher Krimms stop and think about his life choices. He wasn’t a regretful man- this a casual survey of cause and effect. Krimms would take little pieces of memory and contort them, thoughtfully, into a sort of mathematical ballet. Memories of old lovers pirouette around one another, interactions of contrast. Pain, made graceful by time, shimmied through and behind the flow.
A conga line of what-if very suddenly made its presence known, which meant it was time to stop. This was fine with Krimms. He was always of aware of the line where insight turns to masturbation. Besides, there was a new letter. They had always been irregular, but it had been almost three weeks since the last one had manifested. This was a cause for concern- they had become a vital source of levity.
He pulled it out of his desk, and began to read.
“Dear Dr. Gibson,
I have been made aware of your pro-cucumber article to Vegetable Town magazine. This is disgusting to me. The cucumber is like if Stephen King and Hitler collaborated to create an even worse vegetable. How dare you try to fool strong Americans like me into eating tasteless water cylinders.
Best,
Henry”
Researcher Krimms held the letter to his chest and chuckled.
—
Rachel Welbe leaned back in her car seat and relished another in-between moment. The car had become something of an as needed temporal-space. A place where she didn’t have to worry. There were also the letters.
She started finding them in her glove box about three months ago, on an irregular basis. They were frightening at first, these pieces of spontaneous dream logic. After some time, however, they became a source of connection. She felt around in her glove box and pulled out a new one.
She read,
“Dear Dr. Ballard
Please review my new writing for my creative writing class I think that it is very good writing.
‘Of course he loved him. How couldn’t he love someone he had carried within himself for so long? But the need for solitude had once again reared its warm, scabrous head. And so he was thrust into the many withered arms of our vast and unloving god.’
-Henry”
Rachel held the letter to her chest and cried silently.