“You're dying, you know.” “Yep.” “Well?” “Well, what?” “Well, don't you think you should tell somebody? Somebody besides me , I mean.” “I didn't tell you that. I don't even know that I am. And you don't know either.” “You just said you were though.” “I did not.” “Then you confirmed that you were.” “I didn't do that either. Maybe I just feel like I am is all.” “No. You are. You don't have much time left. Strangers may not be able to tell. But I can. I remember how you used to be.” “I'm just getting old,” the man coughed up a couple, dusty lung-fulls of air. He'd been combing his hair in the mirror. “You're not that old.” “Well, thank you.” “Not old enough to be coughing like that all the time,” she elaborated, “Not old enough to say