Curled in a fetal position, he watches her.
She smiles down at him from the open window. Her lips are full, eyes wide. She’s beautiful, but she doesn’t know it.
“Haven’t you heard?” he yells up to her, arms wide. “Europe is free! Sing it! Sing it to the trees, to the hills, to the ocean’s crest! Paint your lips red! It’s time to kiss in the streets and swing from the lamp posts!”
While he mumbles, she tucks in his blanket, checks his IV, and quietly leaves the room.
He looks up and smiles as confetti drifts onto his cheeks.