I was getting by making Ends meet. Making Ends meet wasn’t easy, never had been, never would be. But I had to do it. If I didn’t, I’d starve. We’d all starve. The Ends would see to that.
Sure, I could just get a Beginning to met an End. Beginnings were naive, wide-eyed goofy suckers, you could set them up with any old End. It was as easy as a Cake Walk, a dessert I’d invented for these situations that actually walked up to tables and served itself. But we all needed the Beginnings. Beginnings meeting an End made everybody sad, so I couldn’t go setting those guys up together, it ended in tears.
But making Ends meet... Ends knew what they were like; sad, bitter little bastards full of doom and gloom, obsessed with death. Why would they want to meet another End? They didn’t. So I opened a bar where Ends met their Ends. Ends would drink to each other, nothing they liked more than toasting another End. Then the cake would walk up, distract them for a moment, and before they knew what happened I was bundling them off together, drunk, into a cab. Two Ends finished.