"I don't think you should die," he said, looking most genuinely concerned.
She sputtered like a stalling saw. "I look frail. I know. I'm having some digestive symptoms."
He jumped up, "What would you eat? Name it," he said loosing his forearms.
She asked for a roll and soy butter hoping the binding quality of bread would ease her discomfort.
"Just bread. Ooo oh, and tea, ginger tea". She'd been busy trying not to fall over. Soon the bun and tea were coating her stomach lining, absorbing the disorientation and acidic rumble. "Thanks," she sighed. I needed that." The crumbs having been gathered, her head nodded onto the back of his shoulder.
"You shouldn't die," he stated emphatically.
"Not on a random Wednesday," she mumbled in response, drifting off.
"Definitely not on a Wednesday, sure....very unromantic day to die."
