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The End?

Phillip Kalantzis Cope A mural outside Mars Bar earlier this week.

Yesterday, I went to Pas De Deux on East 11th Street to pick out a dress for my girlfriend. Two women approached, one short-legged, the other willowy; both were stylish, in their own way.

“How can we help?” they said in near unison.

I explained that I wanted to buy a dress for my girlfriend.

“Something that says, ‘I really enjoyed our time together and I’m sorry I could not prevent the inevitable.’”

The short girl bit her cheek, “That…sounds interesting, are you breaking up?”

“The world is ending,” I said.
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