No reason

"Look, Franz," he said. "The fork goes on this side of the drawer, okay? People in the Southern Hemisphere may put it on that side, but that is not how it works up here."

"Fine," said Franz. "But I'm still not going to put the hand towels in that far drawer, that is just too much."

"Whatever."

"Yeah, you know it whatever."

For a brief moment the two Chinese men stared at one another. Then Franz turned and quickly left the kitchen. Brian lingered a moment, upset that the first day of class wasn't going well because his partner couldn't agree to follow instructions. But he had a hungry cat at home and brooding wasn't going to solve anything tonight. He walked to the corner and grabbed his jacket, then headed toward the door. Turning, he scanned the room for one last check of anything that might be out of place, then flipped the lights out and walked out the door.

Twenty-three seconds later, the kitchen lights snapped back on and Franz smiled to himself. He worked quickly, efficiently, just like he'd learned. Before leaving, he went back to the hand towels and placed them in the far drawer, then disappeared into the hushed streets.

The next day, reporters covering the explosion reported a crater eight feet deep and more than 100 feet in diameter. And kitchen knives lodged into buildings two blocks away.

- - -

I just had the phrase, "Look, Franz," come to mind and this is proof that I have no imagination. Maybe it will grow. Maybe, if I put together every phrase that comes to mind—which happens once or twice a month—in 47 years I'll have a little poem.