The coffee tasted like soy sauce. That’s because it is, she told him. He retreated to the couch and fell asleep. She put the soy sauce away.

He bought her a chef’s knife for her birthday. I love you, he told her sincerely. She wished he’d bought her something else. Especially now.

She said yes to him even though he wrote ads for a living, and bad ones, like for garbage bags. She could live with the regret. Some times.

I told her not to use that spoon; I’d used it as a back scratcher. But it was her first time at my place and she didn’t know me well enough.

Am I falling or flying? he wondered. Above him, the pieces. Industry. Detritus. Am I lucky or unlucky? he asked himself. He’d soon find out.