Marie and Jones paid for their meal and made their way up the four flights of stairs to their new apartment. They didn’t exchange a word the whole time, or throughout the rest of the night. Not much interesting happened throughout the next few days until the pair’s weekly whiskey session on that Friday. They sat down and cracked open the bottle they had been working on last week and shared gracious sips in gracious silence.

Finally, Marie broke:

“When was the last time you saw a doctor?” She asked.

“When I got my diagnosis.” Jones said. And so they had a long talk about whether or not they should go see a doctor in Greater Columbia and Jones came to the conclusion that it didn’t matter all that much. “I mean,” Jones started, “that’s why I’ve been smoking. The doctor said I could fall down dead any minute, so I want to only enjoy myself.”

“Will you enjoy yourself at the job at the diner?” Marie asked.

“Not very much, no. But that’s the beauty of it; I could’ve spent the last remaining days I have on this Earth packaging silly little things for [the much more successful company] or I could spend them here, working an honest job and coming home every night to the sound of beautiful music.” It was this little speech that really got the drinking started between the two. Eventually, Jones made two requests:

“Could you play me something?” Was their first request. “And it can be ‘Mellow My Mind’ by Neil Young if you want.” They felt the need to add.

“I wanna see something I’ve never seen before.” Was their second.

“What do you want to see?” Marie asked.

“I want to see the Atlantic Ocean, gazing from the head of the Statue of Liberty.”

Marie followed this request by stopping their melody abruptly and grabbing Jones by the sides of their head. “Jones, I’m going to take you to the Statue of Liberty.” She said. “I promise you.” She felt the need to add. “When would we go?”

“Whenever you’d like, Marie. Whenever’s good for you, monetarily wise.” Marie smiled at this, and Jones smiled too, something that hadn’t happened in their new apartment in a very long time.

Marie woke up the next morning to the loud, emphatic clacking of Jones’ typewriter coming from the kitchen. Jones had set up shop in the kitchen, brewing a pot of coffee and smoking a fresh pack of cigarettes to greet the new day.

“You work today?” Marie asked.

“Yup, in three hours.” Jones said, clacking away. “I just decided to get a head-start on a new thing.”

“A new thing? That’s not very descriptive.”

“It could be a short story, or it could be a book by the time I’m done with it. Anywho, it’s about the end of the world.”

“Oh?”

“So, after the end of the world, the human race lives in a complex of cubicles. Each cubicle has a toilet, a tube where food is delivered three times a day, and a computer terminal. Everyone talks to each other through these computer terminals and this guy has a best friend in the computer. He decides one day that he’s going to break out of his cubicle, and then he goes on a journey throughout the complex, which is miles wide mind you, in order to see his best friend.”

Marie smiled at this. “What happens at the end?” She asked.

“I haven’t decided yet. I’m just kind of making it up as I go along.” It was at this point that Marie asked where the original copy of “The Unbeatable Foe” went, because she would very much like to read that trite garbage. When Jones gave it to her, she maybe read the first seven pages before shipping it off in a manila envelope to her newly earned pen-pal, Stephen Lawrence Jr.

Stephen was the only person that Marie talked to throughout those first couple of days when she found out that Jones had cancer. Stephen said that there shouldn’t be anything to worry about, that he’s had cancer plenty of times and this is only Jones’ first bout with the disease. This failed to make Marie feel any better. On their last phone call, Marie warned that she was to send off a copy of “The Unbeatable Foe” to Stephen, who took this news gladly.

“I’d very much like to read it.” Stephen said. “And especially whatever else Mr. Jones has to write.”

“Jones.” Marie said. “It’s just Jones.”

“Oh, my bad.” Stephen made an excuse that he was just an old fart, his head itself turning into a viscous soup. Marie encouraged him that this was nothing to worry about, a mistake often made. Stephen still felt the need to apologize once more. And so, the arrangement was made that Stephen would be the last bastion of “The Unbeatable Foe”.

After a little bit of working on their book about the end of the world, Jones went to work at the diner, and Marie was left alone in the seemingly huge apartment. Anything seemed huge to her, compared to the drabby apartment that constituted her life a few months prior. Not much moldy food had accumulated since Jones did their first clean up. There was absolutely nothing to do. Marie was hit with a strong stinge of boredom for the first time in a very long time. This boredom gave Marie the chance to practice the piano by herself for the first time in a very long time. She played through almost her entire catalog before Jones returned from the diner, late into the evening. Marie was reminded of a tree, falling alone in the forest.