The Fireman

by Joe Hill

“I don’t know how much time we have left. Could be fifty years. Could be one more week. But I do know that we’re not going to get cheated out of one second of being together. We’re going to share everything and feel everything together. And I am going to let you know, in the way I touch you, and the way I kiss you”—as he said it, he touched her, and kissed her—“that you are the best thing in my life. And I’m a selfish man, and I want every inch of you, and every minute of your life I can have. There’s no my life anymore. And no your life. Just our life, and we’re going to have it our way. I want birthday cake every day and you naked in bed every night. And when it’s time to be done, we’ll have that our way, too.

In any random slaughter, the difference between living and dying rarely has anything to do with willpower or wisdom or pluck. It’s just a matter of where you’re standing. Two inches to the right and the bus hits you. If your office is on the ninety-second floor instead of the ninetieth, you don’t make it out in time.