Back from the night shift, she stares at his body draped diagonally across the bed like some flaccid Adonis- the sheet a discarded tunic, cluttering the bed's end. Then a return to the kitchen and Billy's formula. She had asked him to prepare it but had not been surprised, on arriving home, to find the bottles empty. Standing at the bench when Billy lets out a cry, and suddenly it all seems too much. A solitary tear breaks the lid and glides the arc of her cheek.