Millie studied her husband reading a newspaper. He looked as if he’d been poured into the thick leather chair–he looked so comfortable, it was doubtful he’d ever move. His full head of hair was nearly all white, adding to her impression that the man she’d married 30 years ago liked how he had aged. But her thoughts included the self- realization that their life together was well rooted in boredom with no plans to alter the journey. The morning sun had settled in her eyes—she had to push back in the living room oversized chair to avoid the glare. Her position was uncomfortable, perhaps, that’s why she spoke abruptly: “Damon, why don’t we move?”
Damon enjoyed making lists, mostly of chores to do. “Moving” had never be on any list. He looked at his wife blankly. “What?”
“Let’s abandon the country for a place with an edge.”
“Yes, a city where there is a chance of being robbed, or yelled at by some nut.”
“You want to be robbed?”
“Of course, not. But I’d like crime to be a possibility. We haven’t heard a police siren in decades.”
Damon rose slowly and held up the front page of the Weekly Bugle. “See here—a buck ran into Joe Miller’s Chevy and caused $1,500 worth of damage. And the car was parked in the driveway.”
Millie laughed loudly at the hopelessness of her request. Of course, Damon smiled, assuming she’d been overcome by his witty choice of neighborhood news.
“I’ll be in the kitchen,” said Millie.
Damon sat down and continued reading the paper while Millie walked slowly to the next room. She reached up to the top cabinet and retrieved a dusty bottle of whiskey. She examined it for awhile before yelling: “When do you want to have dinner?”
“Whenever you do, honey.”
She took the bottle and titled it, so a dab of liquor trickled on her wrist which she then licked. Maybe tomorrow she’d try a shot glass.