Sara Krowa lied about the number of lovers she had had, adding nine to arrive at the figure she told her best friend when they met again after an eleven-year estrangement. Sara was a virtuous lady. Her long-lost (estranged) best friend Maya Dupa also lied about the number of lovers she had had, but Maya instead divided by nine. Maya was a promiscuous whore. Sitting beneath the sprawling oak, they ate their sandwiches al fresco and sipped strong lattes from ceramic mugs as they used to do when they were mere girls. The eleven years since their last meeting only served to bring them closer, and the intimacy between them now was assured. Sara had married shortly after losing touch with Maya; Maya only recently married out of convenience shortly before calling Sara out of the bleu. Sara’s husband was a tenured professor at the nearby university; Maya still did not know what her husband did for a living, and she didn’t care as long as he kept bringing home the cash he used to lavish her with non-essential commodities. It was pure economics 101: supply me with all that I demand! Or else. Later that afternoon, Sara stopped by the university to meet her husband in his office. Finding no one there, she started toward the departmental office, knowing that he would probably be there chatting with the secretary or department chair. No one was there. A chill traced its way from the base of her neck to the tip of her tailbone, causing her to shake uncontrollably. “Are you okay, lady?” a student asked as he passed her by in the hall. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she lied unconvincingly. The next thing she knew, she woke up alone in the hospital eleven years later.