I'm at a Starbucks. It's deserted. New Years Eve. She sits at a table beside mine. She's beautiful. Like a child's poem.
"Don't take this wrong but you are the most beautiful woman I've ever met who is dying," I say. She moves over to my table.
"Here." She takes my fingers, puts them on her jugular and holds them there.
"No, feel." She moves my fingers slow along her neck.
"Do you feel? I'm dying."
"Keep my fingers on your neck any longer I'll be dying."
She pulls them away, doesn't let go of my hand.
"Will you come with me?"
"Doesn't matter. Just come. It'll be perfect." For the first time her face brightens.
"You're dying," I say.
She takes my hand and puts it up to my jugular. "What are you?"
"Beatrice, come on. We're all waiting." It's a guy in a sleek, fitted, sharkskin suit.
Beatrice gets up, kisses my forehead, brushes her lips against mine. I feel her breath enter my mouth. I am...