His wife printed out a poem, something about plums, and used the fruit shaped magnets they’d found at a flea market to affix it to the refrigerator.
“I don’t get it,” he said.
She said there wasn’t anything to get. It was just a little funny. He shrugged. Slipped past her. Opened the fridge door and pulled out the last can of beer.
“I’ll have one too,” she said. He swallowed and said there weren’t any left.
“I can pour you half? Or finish this and go to the store for more, no problem.”
“Get something for breakfast, too then.”