We’re in bed. We’re talking about what we’ll be like after our second ten years together. “We’ll be arms dealers,? she says. “Virtual arms dealers,? I add, “software only.? “And we’ll be married to five people.? “In four countries.? “On another planet.? “And we’ll finally get our damn flying cars.?
Later I make peanut brittle and listen to music made out of bits and pieces of older, more comfortable music.