We drove along a road so bumpy we couldn't think straight. I said, "I'll be the death of you." I parked the car on top of a cliff. We walked to the edge, pulling at each other's hair, and looked over. I said, "If you have to fall, fall backward." She didn't listen. As she fell I yelled down at her, "You shouldn't have done that," and she yelled up at me, "Don't worry, it's just a metaphor." But then she hit the ground, and the metaphor dried up along with her blood and guts on the rocks down below.