Last Day

I'd have loads of sex, I said. I'd make amends. Get blitzed. Pig out. Dance naked on a rooftop listening to Bruce: You ain't a beauty but hey, you’re all right. I’d burn it all down. I’d fight. Hide. Jump into the sea. Go out on my own terms.

But you shouldn’t trust hypotheticals. We’re terrible with them. When the last day really came, when the sky turned a bleak and sunless yellow, I walked my dog. I fed him bacon, brushed his coat. Then I sat with him on the couch, scratched his ears, and waited while the atmosphere tore away and the world went up in smoke.