There’s a hole where the nail used to be and she can see through it, straight to heaven. Oh, she’s sure he’s up there, somewhere, waiting for her. She peers out the hole oh the whole time we’ve been talking you know, peering for the epiphany only we know and have been holding onto. If only we had the guts to tell her there’s no such thing: she can’t make a heaven of life! And if it’s not a gun, it’s a knife, or a lie, or the phone, or a hotel room, or a stone with a key inside it. Or he might have heaven up there with him. Or she might be his wife. Better she keep looking, press her ear eye nose throat spine elbows spleen toes through the hole and ask if she fits and keep waiting for it and we can tell her stories to pass the time.