Before the great split, they went out clubbing at glitzy boums (aka discothèques), sipping on delicate café au laits, the foam in their mugs forming hearts and arrows, portraits of le Pont Neuf, the Musée d’Orsay, and La Défense.

This is my first memory of my fear of heights.

This is my first memory full stop.

Neither of us were drunk. It was just dark outside, the streets narrow, and we were turning a bend, and then the quiet thump beneath us, like a balloon deflating.

Most of them had specific requests: They asked me to pretend to be the people they missed or wanted to be.

You check the clock on the wall and see your flight boards in less than an hour. You’re cutting it closer than you like.

They made the pact six weeks after the sickness descended on the King.