It goes like this: as the weather gets colder, Tiffany and James play emotional apocalypse by email, script, art, and eye contact—all talk, no touch. She gets to be the world, which makes him the ending. There is no revelation. He orbits her. She spins. Gradually, they become orphaned from their morals, and they feel that something has died, but also that something’s been born. Among everyone Tiffany’s ever met, James takes the most from her, gives her the most. It’s his fault, it’s hers, he isn’t, it doesn’t matter, it matters most.
