The water shimmers baby blue beneath a blushing pink sky and it seems Bob and I are the only people on earth.
The moist air is already sticking to your arms at 7:00 AM, the pores in your armpits twitching like a horse in a starting gate.
We opened the door and peered in at what had once been a hub of activity, our old kitchen, all tore up and abandoned.
“How long do you want to live?” Bob asks over a steaming bowl of fried cabbage
We want to believe the human race will persevere, that our survival is part of a grand plan.