"What am I to you?"

"You? You're a disappearance."

She growled silently in the fog, and he clenched her hand with the cold weight of a long walk and a long life, both stuck together, clammy and final.




"Oh stop with the literature," she said finally.

He laughed. "I'll stop with it once we stop being characters in my mediocre novel."

"Yours?" She spit it out. They didn't speak for hours.