Two lovers cuddle in the night. They have made love and now they rest, sharing soft talk and warmth of each other’s arms.


“You know, Fraser, sometimes I feel like I’ve known you, like, ages and ages.”


“If you’ve known me that long, Ray, you could start calling me by my first name.”


“Your first name is stupid. Benton. I think I called you that, like, once.”


“Yes, just once. The first day we met, after you took that bullet for me, you called me ‘Benton, buddy’.”


“Get out! I never.”


“Ray, you did call me that. I remember distinctly.”


“No, I mean I didn’t take any bullet for you. She shot at me, specifically.”


“After you stepped in front of me. Maybe you don’t remember.”


“I remember everything about that day. Everything. Like, I had to get shot for you to finally call me ‘Ray’.”


“I still call you ‘Ray’, so to make it equitable if you wanted to call me . . .”


“ . . . ‘Benton buddy’? Pass on that. Never mind about the names. What I’m trying to tell you is I feel like we’ve known each other a lot longer than just a couple of months.”


“Maybe we have. There are some cultures that believe in re-incarnation.”


“Yeah, but we don’t belong to one of those cultures.”


“We may have, once.”


“Okay, you’re getting metaphysical on me.”


“Sorry, Ray.”




(Well, actually, the middle but that’s all for now.)


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