Fibers

"Going to pick up any NEW hobbies this year?" Charly asked, careful not to hang on the word "new" and make her point too sharply. Michelle sighed. "Nope," she responded quietly, "still all about (various) needles and (all kinds of) thread. No pottery classes; no learning Mandarin; no scrap metal side hustle; nothing but fibers and more fibers and, maybe, some additional fibers." Charly looked up and nodded. "I'm sorry," she offered apologetically, "I just don't understand the obsession." "Nor should you, for your ways are not our ways - we who serve the common thread," Michelle intoned (and they both laughed). On the lower level, in the clean room, a small tear in the fabric of reality had formed; she felt it go somewhere near her solar plexus and was resolved to repair it as soon as Charly left (for the gym, for her cooking class, for a date with that person she'd met her first day on the app). Michelle was content to have a life that looked simple and even small at first glance; she couldn't imagine the hysteria if they knew the truth.