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James Jackson was in the bathroom one night before bedtime, staring at his face in the mirror. As he watched, two sprites emerged as blasts of steam from each of his ears. He knew them well. They’d been visiting him since he was a kid. They periodically emerged in mirrors and windows. Sometimes they came out of the air conditioning vents in the car. Their names were Jimmy and Jack.

“You know what I just realized?” Jimmy said.

“That in heaven the angels eat chocolate ice cream,” Jack said.

“I realized, “Jimmy said, ignoring Jack’s comment, “that when you finally get to retire and you think about moving to a new place or moving out into the country or whatever, you don’t think about where you want to live, you think about where you want to die. You think about bedrooms that have a nice view, because it’s probably the last thing you’ll see. You want to make sure there is enough space to put a comfortable chair next to the bed, so your friends and relatives can pull up close and have a nice chat or a cup of something while they tell you how much they love you. You want to make it easy for them to do that. You don’t care if there are nice places to walk nearby or if the neighborhood schools are any good. You just want a nice room to die in.”

“Wow,” Jack said. “If I thought that way I’d probably just go out and shoot myself and get it all over with. I mean sure, you don’t want a place with lots of stairs and all that. But once you’re thinking about your house based on where you want to die, aren’t you halfway dead already?”

“Halfway?” Jimmy said, “At our age it’s more like three quarters so you’d better be thinking about it.”

“Well,” Jack said, “three quarters dead is one quarter alive. Helene and I are planning a trip to Italy, and I plan to eat a lot of wonderful, caloric food, with wine and dessert, and laugh my ass off. If I’m lucky I’ll have a heart attack at a dinner table on the Piazza Navona and the Italian government will have to pay for my medical care. Fuck the goodbyes. I could get hit by a car tomorrow. I’ve still got a few hellos in me, and I plan to enjoy them.”

“I used to think that way,” Jimmy said. “But now if I eat or drink too much I just get heartburn and a headache. It’s not as much fun as it used to be. And my leg hurts if I walk more than a few blocks. I’d rather stay home and watch the sunset.”

“Whoopee doo,” Jack said. “Helen and I’ve got tickets for Rome in May and the kids are meeting us for a week in Florence. I’m excited. Are you excited about all the naps you’ve got in store for you?”

“Maybe not excited,” Jimmy said. “But at peace. Are you at peace?”

The two sprites disappeared back into James Jack’s ears. He stared at his reflection. Grey beard, bald head, a chin that sagged down to his collar bone.

“Ridiculous,” he said, turning off the light. “Time for bed.”