Dance?
Her lips may have formed words, but the music was deafening, so he read her hands instead and then fast-forwarded his life past early thrills to wedding, flat, child, car, a second child, a house, a second car, strain, quarrels, empty looks, long drawn-out silences, distressing counselling, a flat, nights in the pub, divorce, no car, no flat, a bed, slow mindless wanderings, shortness of breath and — the tape was winding down now — death. Looking up from his open coffin, he saw that she had vanished. Oh well, it wouldn’t have been worth it, would it? Would it?
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