"That is a great jacket. Where'd you get it?"
"Bespoke."
"Mind if I ask who your tailor is?"
His gaze darted left, then right, then he stepped in close to me and spoke in a low voice, so he might not be overheard.
"No, no," he whispered. "Bee. Bee spoke to me. In the garden, while I was tending the roses, watering the honeysuckle. Little insect whispers, dozens coming together as one. Soft susurrations coalescing into a whole. I'll be among the first to deliver the news."
In the sunshine streaming into the vestibule, I saw the material of his jacket shift subtly of its own accord, the glints of hundreds of chitinous exoskeletons catching the light.
Story © 2017 Kyle Atrus
Image Public Domain, source http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/view-image.php?image=160443&picture=macro-bee-profile
