Friday morning, E.S. and I went into Manhattan together, he to go to work and I to the gym. As we waited in the Atlantic Avenue subway station, he said something incredibly annoying–I can’t remember what, alas–and I made as if to push him onto the train track. Then we had the following conversation:
E.S.: In front of the N train? Is that really how you want me to go?
FAUSTUS: No. It’s not nearly painful enough. But it’s what’s available.
E.S.: I just don’t want my last thought to be he won’t get the insurance.
FAUSTUS: I won’t get the insurance anyway. Your sister is your beneficiary.
E.S.: Never mind.
FAUSTUS: Oh, look, here comes the train.