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UMBRELLA

  A man in his forties bangs on the knocker of a brownstone. A woman with a flat affect opens the door. Bill Hello, Diane. Diane He’ll be down in a minute.   Bill What’s he doing? Diane He’s learning to tie his shoe.  Bill He’s advanced.  His bilateral integration is off the charts. Despite herself, she releases a constrained giggle.  Bill contd What?  Diane Nothing,  Nothing.  Bill It’s true.  Diane I guess it’s true then. Bill It is.  ( pause ) I like your new haircut.  Diane Yeah.  Sure.  Right.   Bill Oh, come on now, D. Be nice. It’s easier than you think.  Diane I’m going to the kitchen.  He’ll be right down.  She slams the door. He knocks again. She opens the door. Bill Why do you have to be so goddamn horrid?  Diane Because I want to be.  Because I ...

SHINE

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I’ve encountered three men with it. It’s very rare and more than skin deep.   The first - I didn’t even know his name. He was dark haired handsome and worked for a short while at the station. I saw him once in my neighborhood with his young, happy son. He had a top tier smile and always looked like he was wearing brand new clothes.  The second - Yosi. He is Israeli and married to my niece. He looks like all the men in her Irish family and has a very admirable calm and peaceful way about him. Unflappable is the word that comes to mind. Paul is Ava’s boyfriend. She lives on my floor. He lives in London and here. He is red haired with bright eyes. We laughed about how a sleep apnea machine jeopardizes his possibility of ever having sex again.  
  The fire had burned to coals and he lay looking up at the stars in their places and the hot belt of matter that ran the chord of the dark vault overhead and he put his hands on the ground at either side of him and pressed them against the earth and in that old burning canopy of black he slowly turned dead center to the world, all of it taut and trembling and moving enormous and alive under his hands. - Cormac McCarthy, All the      Pretty Horses

WIll I ...

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... be able to listen to Blue after I die?