Maybe this is the wrong approach. There is opportunity, true, to embrace death in my own fashion; but do I thereby win? Is blinking out with a minimum of discomfort and maximum dignity the only available goal? It seems meager.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Llewellyn inquires softly. She has been sitting patiently, while I absorb the implications of a lifetime.
Llewellyn gazes at me quizzically. “I just composed the first line of Ulysses,” I explain.