They laid on the blow-up mattress in their living room, worn out from the day of unpacking. The heat was relentless, and soon they would find relief in their entwined sleep. He sat up. "Do you smell that?" She couldn't smell anything. "I think that's gas." No, no, it wasn't. Well, it might have been, but she was too tired to care. The city had various odors and none of them had done more harm than made her gag. "We should call the gas company," he persisted. Exhausted, she was desperate for an excuse to hush his anxiety. She sniffed around the apartment, and lifted the window screen to stick her nose out the window. It was coming from outside. "Okay," he said, "so shouldn't we call?" "Someone else will do it," she said, "Lets go to bed." Resigned, he laid down beside her and snuggled his nose into the back of her neck. The room was dark and she soon found herself restless. He had passed his anxiety on to her so that they both lay on the cool mattress, exhausted and brooding. Eventually all four eyes closed, lucidly dreaming of dying in their sleep and content with their last moment together in that bed.
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