“Autumn’s a beautiful season,” Angela said, gazing out, admiring the reds and other warm colors.

“It reminds me of death,” Jonathan wheezed.

“Not surprising. Everything makes you think of death.”

“That’s because I’m dying. How can you be so callous?”

Not callous. Just pragmatic, Angela thought, stroking the divorce papers, now moot, in her pocket.


Michael Seese.