I had gone to visit my wife Carolina, who had moved into her own apartment. She and I had had a big fight, and I had been reassessing our relationship. When she saw me, she told me that I seemed distant, and that she was beginning to wonder if I wanted a divorce. I then dropped the bombshell on her, and told her that indeed, I did want a divorce.

She seemed shocked for a moment, but quickly recovered. Even though she hadn't been expecting me to say such a thing, she seemed to have foreseen the inevitability of a divorce. As for myself, I was resigned to our separating, and I felt practically no pain. I simply wanted to get everything over with.

I hadn't intended to discuss the matter further with her, but since we were already on the subject, I went ahead, and told her that we simply needed to divide up our property, and that of course we would also need to decide who would keep my pet Dalmatian Chaucer and my pet Dalmatian Picasso. Now that I was thinking about it, the dogs seemed to be one of the more important matters we would need to resolve. I thought she might want to keep Chaucer, since she considered Chaucer to be her dog. But I doubted she would be able to take care of Chaucer by herself, and I figured I would probably end up with both dogs.

As I talked, Carolina walked into the kitchen and began scrapping the floor with something which looked like a shovel. It looked as if she were scrapping off quite a bit of grime which had been left by the previous tenants.

As she worked, I began thinking to myself about what I would do once we were separated. At long last I would be able to leave and travel. I would first head for Germany, spend a little time there, and then move on to Greece. I would find a nice Grecian island and spend some time on a sandy beach.

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