He was dying, and he had no family. He told that to the girl. She was young, unmarried, and by profession, a cashier.
‘I’ll give you all my wealth if you agree to marry me and bear my child,’ he said.
She looked at her toes. They were dainty.
I write as a way of life: stories, blogs, articles, almost-poems. I'm a freelancer, a vegetarian, and I listen to Leonard Cohen and enjoy French films. We are dying a little more with each new day we live, so shouldn't we make the most of our time?
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