I wish I’d done everything on earth with you, she says. The street is quiet. No cars, or closing doors. Just them, and her voice, on the linen-dry wind. It’s not mine, she says. The quote. But it’s beautiful, isn’t it? He nods, but barely, because he is not used to such talk. And I feel it, Rosie says, still with that smile of hers. I was just thinking that I feel it.
