Deeply moving tunes from my music system. The novel that defined my life on the table. Sribbles for my new paper on my lap. My daughters sleeping upstairs.
I don't really care, my friend, says Death, smiling at me. All this is extraneous. You had your time. It's over. Come with me now.
Not yet, please. Please.
Alright, he says, I am very busy elsewhere, so perhaps not now. But I will be back when it suits me. Be ready.