“Where are you going?”
“Does it matter?”
Headlights clear a path for the car to glide along the smooth blacktop.
“I can’t believe this is the last time we’ll ever see any of this.”
“What do you think it’ll look like?”
“Not like this.”
They both look up, seeing past the few cloud streaks caught in the moonlight to the billions of stars beyond.
“It won’t be, couldn’t be, anything like this. Could it?”
She turns on the radio.
“And what about music?”
“What about it?”
“Will it be the same?”
“Why wouldn’t it?’
“Why would anything?”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why would we?”
“Well… then why even bother starting over?”
Their hands find each other in the silence.
“It’ll be better, you’ll see. Or else what’s the point?”
“It could be heaven or hell, and we’ll only know which is which because they’ll tell us which is which.”
“Then this really is the last time we’ll ever see this. Or do this. Or live this!”
The radio begins to lose its signal, turning into ever increasing static.
“Where are you going?”
“Does it matter?”