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.
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