LOVE SILHOUETTED BY LAMPLIGHT

THE arm of smoke, grown thin, reaches across the water and settles briefly on a small house near the woods. A husband and wife, each with a drink in hand, are sitting inside, arguing about which of them will die first. “I will, ” says the husband. “No, I will, ” says the wife. “Maybe we’ll die at the same time, ” they both say in unison. They cannot believe that they are talking this way, so the wife gets up and says, “If I were an artist, I would paint a portrait of you.” “And if I were an artist, ” says the husband, “I would do exactly the same.”