The pint glass shimmers as the condensation moves slowly toward the damp, rotting coaster. Gravity working its endless magic. He sips the froth, winces and swallows. He lights the match on the corner of the splintered bar and stares into the flame.

Will he go home?

He knows she is there with him; accepting his warmth inside her while the condensation moves ever south. He sees them in the flame, wrapped together like mussels in a shell.

Will he… ?

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