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One day, I was in my apartment and a fly went by. Another day went by and he was still going about his business, flying, landing on things, flying again. I decided to make the best of it, so I adopted him and named him “Tim”. Tim was a good fly, and he kept me company on lonely evenings. Alas, like many relationships, Tim got old. When I tried to brush him away, he did not move, not even a flinch. It was his time.
Yet, when the moment came to kill him and put him out of his misery, I could not do it. My roommate, Christin, did the deed. Goodbye Tim, you were a good friend.
