took a couple.

"Apsirin. See? Easy."

Her mouth made a little, red, round "O" of wonder. She took a couple.

"Gosh! Firs' time I c'd ever take a pill."

"Good. Have 'nother?"

It was crazy, sure. The two of us were drunk. But it was more than
that. We were like a couple of wild, irresponsible kids, out of control
and running wild through the pill boxes. We reeled around the bathroom,
sampling pills and laughing.

"Here's nice bottla red ones."

There was a nice bottle of red ones. I fumbled the top off the bottle
and spilled the bright red pills bouncing across the white tile
bathroom floor. We dropped to our knees after them, after the red
pills, the red dots, the red, fiery moons, spinning suddenly, whirling,
twirling, racing across the white floor. And then it got dark. Dark,
and darker and even the red, red moons faded away.

Some eons later, light began to come back and the red moons, dim now
and pallid, whirled languidly across a white ceiling.

Someone said, "He's coming out of it, I think."

"Oh," I said. "Ugh!"

I didn't feel good. I'd almost forgotten what it was like, but I was
sick. Awful. I didn't particularly want to look around but I did, eyes
moving rustily in their sockets. There was a nurse and a doctor. They
were standing by my bed in what was certainly a hospital.

"Don't ask," said the doctor. I wasn't going to. I didn't even care
where I was, but he told me anyway, "You are in the South Side
Hospital, Mr. Barth. You will be all right--which is a wonder,
considering. Remarkable stamina! Please tell me, Mr. Barth, what kind
of lunatic suicide pact was that?"

"Suicide pact?"

"Yes, Mr. Barth. Why couldn't you have settled for just one simple
poison, hm-m? The lab has been swearing at you all day."

"Uh?"

"Yes. At what we pumped from your stomach. And found in the girl's.
Liquor, lots of that--but then, why aspirin? Barbiturates we expect.
Roach pellets are not unusual. But aureomycin? Tranquilizers? Bufferin?
Vitamin B complex, vitamin C--and, finally, half a dozen highly
questionable contraceptive pills? Good Lord, man!"

"It was an accident. The girl--Julia----?"

"You are lucky. She wasn't."

"Dead?"

"Yes, Mr. Barth. She is dead."

"Doctor, listen to me! It was an accident, I swear. We didn't know what
we were doing. We were, well, celebrating."

"In the medicine cabinet, Mr. Barth? Queer place to be celebrating!
Well, Mr. Barth, you must rest now. You have been