She watches him sift sand through his fingers. Don’t ruin the mood, she pleads. He looks into her eyes and says, Such is life. And so it is.

She wondered about him, his words shooting out like gum from a fantasy gumball machine, You could be sweet, she said, But you’re sugar-free.

Sunflowers. An endless field of them, kissing the horizon. I love you, she sighs. But he remains silent. Because he hates flowers that much.

He dropped his pen and she bent to pick it up, and he said, That’s what I’m talking about, and she vowed to never do anything for him again.

He was drunk so “undead” came out “unwed.” His wife called that “Freudian.” He said “We need to end this.” She took that the wrong way, too.

The bully punches him. A week later he thinks up the appropriate retort. You look like cold lasagna, he says. And gets punched again. Harder.