He looked at her. Seated in the kitchen. Staring out the window. She sat quietly. Not making a sound. Like she was a zombie. It seemed as though she had death in her face. Wrinkled face. Blue veins in her hands. Her hair was gray and she was balding. The old man looked at her.

Where have we gone to? he asked himself. Yesterday we had youth on our side, he thought. There were dreams, ambitions. Nothing could stop us. And now, now this, the husband whispered. Now this.

She turned her head towards him; her lover of sixty years. Gave him a good look up and down. She drank from her coffee cup. Play some music, she said. Play Lush Life. He laughed. He smiled. Nodded his head.

The old man went into the living room and thumbed over old albums. Frank Sinatra, Chet Baker, Miles Davis, and Billy Strayhorn singing Lush Life. He put the old, scratched record on the turntable. It weezed and coughed, but the music still came through.

He went back into the kitchen and offered her his hand. The old couple embraced and slowly moved to the song. Billy Strayhorn singing Lush Life. Yes, it had truly been.