The thing about threes,” the voice continued, “is they cannot see intite, obdite, or transcite.”

“Who are you?” She twirled around, face cast upward, a ring around the rosy of one. The crow’s eye remained fixed on something or somewhere beyond her vision.

“Six,” it proclaimed, but not unkindly.

“Oh I see,” the first voice said, a slender ribbon of superiority weaving its way through the words. “No wonder they make such a fuss about…what is it they call it? Right. Gender.”

The other laughed, the sound as though it was all places at once. “Yes. Threes.”

Taryn fought the urge to just sit down on the sidewalk as a car drove slowly by, mindful of the speedbump, with a license plate of 51X.

It took her a second, or perhaps a bit longer. She’d only had a few sips of coffee.

“Fine,” she said, “what do you guys want?”

A man walking a fluffy poof of a dog paused as the dog did what dogs do, and then enthusiastically pawed at the ground. “Me?” he asked.

“No,” said Taryn, but let me guess, six?”

Saying nothing to her and walking a wide arc to avoid her, he tugged at the dog’s leash. When all the fluffiness cleared, there, in the dirt, she saw it.

The dog had scratched a perfect six.

“Seriously, what do you want?”

Until next time…