Conditional Reality

The driver opens the car door. A wasp flies in. It buzzes over the rear window, taking delicate tastes, as though deciding if it wants to make a meal out of the glass. The driver opens all the doors and stands outside, leaning against the hood, waiting. The wasp has all the time in the world. It threads a meandering path in the back. Soon more wasps arrive. Dozens of them. Hundreds. They enter the car. The driver, wide-eyed, shakes his head and backs away from the car. The sound of the wasps is like the fury of carnivores chewing.