"Twist. I always get chocolate twist." I smiled down at the cup. Sunny day in south north central new jersey. Good day for custard. Good day to die. Good day for anything, really.
"Of course,"
"You say that a lot."
"Because I concur with you, a lot?"
"Hem. Hm. Ha" A low hum and then a laugh.

   A lot can change. It has. In fact so much had changed I could hardly keep track. The days followed each other closely with vague hints of urgency- I did not know why, figured that was for later. This was a change- both things. Things had never seemed to carry much weight and for the first time in years I was really just content with seeing things play out.
Peter Yorke and his orchestra played in the car ride home. "Love, here is my heart." OH, If only it were that easy. A simple offering, or presentation.  The sun beat down relentless. Earth was dying and all the great works of art anything that was ever to be made had been accounted for and done.