There had been a live feed of the destruction. Once it started, it was hard to look away. It was my birthday, and I had been on this earth for 42 years at five in the morning, but by noon they were tearing down the kitchen I used to flirt with you in when I was 17. The camera was shaky- Fred must have been feeling emotional- and I could see the doorway I used to walk through to get to your side, and the bar I used to lean against for daydreaming. The front door and the foyer were the hardest to tear down, as the pitch of the roof caught the destroyer by surprise.

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In some parallel universe, it’s still there, and Fred’s behind the bar, Queen is coming out of the speakers, and we’re dancing in the kitchen, sloshing around the dishwasher’s day.