They relocate to the city and it thrills them: people protest in the streets and airplanes brush their high window. But their fights don’t get better. She wakes to find him dressing in his suit, his pre-tied tie. Unlike him, however, she doesn’t find work right away and soon stops looking. With the very little vacation time he’s earned, he, reluctantly, it seems to her, takes a couple of days off, and they drive out to the country. After failed sex, they lay on the bed of their isolated cabin not touching; he falls asleep, leaving her to listen to the wind crying in the trees and the cold creek gurgling faintly. They drink wine and argue about all the old things. They drive back to the city. As they circle the neighborhood for a parking spot, she orders him to stop the car—like, right this second—and goes upstairs alone and sits by the window. She slips his tie from the bedpost and puts it on. She cinches it tight against her throat. A plane sweeps past the glass. She’s inside it.
Jesper Andreasson was born in Stockholm and currently resides in Los Angeles. His fiction has also appeared in AGNI, and he releases music under the name Fire in The Trees. Nominated for the James Kirkwood Literary Prize, he received his MFA at the Bennington Writing Seminars. For more of his work, visit jesperandreasson.com.