He complained of not knowing what it meant to be alive and so she said, I can help, and he smiled, and she bit his nose and said, That’s it.

She wanted everyday to be special. But if everyday’s special, he said, not finishing the thought. She waited for him to finish. A long time.

What he wanted to tell her was: You’re just like me. But he knew he couldn’t. Because she would call him fat. Because she was just like him.

The car embraced the light pole with a kind of intimacy. The cop ambled over. What happened? she asked. The facts are inconvenient, he said.