Story #8

A cold cigarette marks the spot where my old lady jumped to her death. "It won't look like a suicide if I'm wearing a parachute pack," she told me, "And this way you'll get to keep the insurance money." I laughed at the sight of her standing on our 40th floor apartment balcony. "Honey," I said, "It's raining, come inside." She smiled all the way down. I laughed all the way to the bank.