8 September 2007 | Vol. 7, No. 3

Slow Fade

by HELENE SIMON WOLFF

When Kev came home from walking Ruffo, the Shar-Pei, he noticed the sofa and easy chair were gone.

"I'm having them reupholstered," Tiffany told him.

The Oriental carpet was also missing. "Being cleaned," she said.

His suits weren't in the closet. "I'm having them let out an inch," Kev said to her.

Tiffany wanted to watch The Devil Wears Prada, but couldn't. "Where's the DVD player?"

"Wasn't working. I took it in to be fixed," he said.

Later that week, he went to warm up his Chinese takeout. "What happened to the microwave?"

"Burnt out," Tiffany said. "Guess we'll have to get a new one. Where's Ruffo?"

"Sick. Had to leave him with the vet," Kev told her.

Monday morning, Kev squeezed the megapixel digital camera into his already bulging oversize briefcase and walked out of the apartment. When I don't come home tonight, she'll realize I've left her, he said to himself.

As soon as Kev shut the door, Tiffany clicked open her cell phone. "Come now to take the flat screen TV off the wall," she said. Then she packed her suitcase. When I'm not here tonight, he'll realize I've left him, she laughed.

When the rent had not been paid for two months, the landlord rang their bell. No answer. As soon as the landlord opened the door, he realized that Kev and Tiffany had left him.