145/365 01/13/2026

How does a saxophone disappear? Beauregard stood in his squalid little living room and scanned the perimeter: shitty couch, rickety table, spider plant needing water. Ancient club chair sprouting foam like fungal growths on its arms and seat. Book shelf, TV, old video game console. And then a small blank spot on the floor where his saxophone case should be. He wandered to the bedroom, a converted closet barely big enough for his twin bed. He moved laundry, checked a shelf. Forced himself between the bed and the wall to peek under the frame. No case. Perhaps he was going blind. So sure was he that the saxophone case had to be here somewhere his brain fabricated a fictional affliction, and then briefly, wildly accepted it. He had to tell himself he was being stupid.