The only reason she hadn’t fought him on this was because he’d been smart enough to show her the article.
“Oh, my God,” she’d said in a hushed whisper. “Those people…My God.”
She was reading about the hotel fire in Michigan that had claimed an undetermined number of lives. The thing about the Internet that still amazed Munson was its immediacy. The fire had just occurred a few hours ago and the bloggers and website journalists were already discussing it as if it was last week’s tragedy. Munson told her to pay special attention to the second to last paragraph.
He watched her read it, waiting patiently for her knee-jerk scientific explanation. Imagine his surprise when she didn’t offer one.
“Spontaenous generation?” she said. “That many people at once? Bullshit.”
“How can you say that? Look how many witnesses there were!”
“Yes, Munson, I know. I’m not disputing the burning people but the writer’s ridiculous theory.”
Munson, who had gotten himself all tense and ready for a shouting match, visibly deflated like a flesh-covered balloon at that. “Well, what’s your theory?”
“I don’t have one yet.” She pushed herself away from the motel room desk and got to her feet. “That’s why I’m not an Internet writer.”