She saw a cardboard box. A big one, like it was for a washing machine or something. She looked inside and saw a note. "Climb into the box" it read.
"The handwriting was so beautiful I figured something wonderful would happen. Now I'm waiting for further instructions."
"Okay," I told her, "But I'm really getting sick of bringing you food and fresh clothes."
Then someone in a fourth-story window above the sidewalk started throwing live sharks down at us.
Stupid stinky live sharks. There should be a law for this kind of situation, you know?